


Kick the very earth to pieces

by EclipseWing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A whole load of dubious things I don't know how to tag, Banshee Lydia Martin, Basically serial killing boyfriends but using the Teen Wolf canon, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Hunter Allison Argent, I'm also justifying Canon Peter's as a consequence., It's not a romance - Freeform, M/M, Murder, There is a lot of murder, True Alpha Scott McCall, Violence, Werewolf Hales, You know this is going to be really interesting because in trying to justify Stiles' actions, Young Peter Hale, it's a partnership, it's not a lot of sex and kissing, it's violent and rough and while it is Stiles/Peter, there's actually more murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's a dead body in the wood."<br/>Derek is going to murder his uncle. Maybe if he's lucky he can convince Laura to help him get rid of the body so that Mom never finds out. </p>
<p>[In which six years ago, the McCall pack burned to the ground, now there are bodies turning up around town, a red eyed wolf in the preserve, a hunter in love with a wolf, a comatose emissary in the hospital, a banshee who keeps finding dead bodies and the Hales stuck right in the middle in danger of going the same way the McCall pack did.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick the very earth to pieces

**Author's Note:**

> “There was nothing either above or below him, and I knew it. He had kicked himself loose of the earth. Confound the man! He had kicked the very earth to pieces. He was alone, and I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground or floated in the air." (3.29 Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad)

"There's a dead body in the woods."

Derek is going to murder his uncle. Maybe if he's lucky he can convince Laura to help him get rid of the body so that Mom never finds out. Not that he thinks she'll miss him, it's not like Peter even lives with them even if he does leave his spawn of a four year old around for them to trip over. Derek found her chewing the leg of their table with her too cute coyote teeth only the day before. It's like his cousin just gets ditched at the house. She's even got her own room and it's not like Mom minds. Derek's not even sure if Mom even realises she's acquired another child, let alone that she is the most responsible adult in the young werecoyote's life.

Up ahead Peter pauses, his dark blonde hair reflecting the moon shining down on them. It will be full by the end of the week, Derek thinks with a sigh and an all too familiar 'not again'.

"Peter, I have school tomorrow," Derek hisses, "Just because you're happy to live life without a job, squandering our family's riches, doesn't mean I want to as well!"

On the rise Peter pauses, laughing, "And here," he drawls, "I thought it was basketball practise that you didn't want to miss."

Derek really wants to punch his uncle on occasion. He settles for shoving past, making sure his elbow catches Peter in the side, sending him flailing a little for balance before he settles into following after Derek. The teenager pushes angrily through the trees, thinking all the while how this sort of shit doesn't happen to Laura. How come Peter never takes Laura out for midnight strolls in the wood? Why is it always Derek?

Peter probably hates him especially or something.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Peter asks casually from behind him.

Derek stops, turning to him, "Do you?" he retorts, "And what kind of body is this anyway?"

His uncle steps forwards, hands going to Derek's shoulders as he readjusts Derek's direction. "That way," he says, "And I heard Talia talking about it, apparently it was a big deal, and they weren't sure what could have possibly been big enough to take down a deer and..."

Derek stops abruptly, "You mean it's not even a _human_ body?" he says, "You dragged me all the way out here for a dead _deer_?"

"Not just any deer," Peter explains, "A deer that was sacrificed. On our territory."

"How do you know it was sacrificed and not just killed?"

With a triumphant grin Peter shoves past several trees and stops. Derek follows, the scent finally hitting him and--

He _gags_. It's a deer alright, but its rotten from the inside out. It's been splayed out on its back, legs pointing to the sky and a smooth knife wound straight down the stomach. The entrails fall out, the blood meeting the soil below it. They've been dragged out, and they lie scattered around the body like some morbid presents to the dead.

"Amazing," Peter breathes.

"That's disgusting," Derek says.

Peter steps forwards, his hand tracing something out in mid-air, "Look at the blood," he breathes, "It spirals out… on purpose."

A spiral? Derek is dubious. Surely this is just a random animal kill? He looks at it again and he can see why Mom and the vet were worried, there is something not right about it. There's a scent in the air of lightning and rain, and it clings to the deer. It sets Derek's teeth on edge, even though he doesn't admit it. He clutches his arms, stepping away from the grotesque sight.  "I can't believe we came all the way out into the preserve for _this_. I'm going home."

"Derek…" Peter whines.

Derek ignores him. He turns to go, and that? That's when he hears the growl.

Looking back slowly, ever so slowly, Derek first sees Peter. His uncle is staring at something the other side of the clearing, emerging through the brambles and undergrowth like a monster from the shadows.

It's a wolf.

Derek's first thought is that there haven't been wolves in California for over sixty years. His next thought is that it's huge. It's monstrous, reaching at least to his shoulders.

Then panic hits because what if nobody ever finds him, what if he dies here, right now with _Peter_ of all people and this monster eats him? It's huge, _massive_ , it probably eats people. It's probably what took down the deer. Derek's seen his mother fully transformed, and she's larger than a normal wolf. But this wolf is larger still. The wolf's fur is pitch black, and each paw barely makes a sound as it pads forwards. It doesn't appear to notice them, it's gaze fixed on the deer spread-eagled in front of them, a sacrifice to… something.

"Oh, fuck," Peter says, and the monstrous wolf looks up, straight towards them.

Oh fuck is right, Derek thinks. The wolf pauses, head dipping down as it scents them. Then seconds later its head snaps up, gazing unnervingly straight at them. Its throat rumbles in a growl and the eyes...

They flare with the blood red of an alpha.

Derek's going to kill Peter, he thinks. Not just kill, murder, painfully, torturously…

The alpha werewolf curls his lip back in a snarl, loping forwards and Derek…

He isn't going to hang around to be eaten by a rival alpha. He takes off, Peter right behind him. The ground falls away beneath him, leaves crunching underfoot as he runs. He can hear Peter doing the same; can hear the crack of twigs and wonders if it is the wolf. He won't even see it coming, he thinks, a black beast in the black of the night.

A howl rings out. It's faint and distant but wolves can modulate their howls. They can make it sound like there are hundreds of wolves, they can make it sound like they're miles away when it reality they are right behind you. So Derek runs, runs and doesn't stop. He doesn't even know if the wolf is following him, but he doesn't want to stop to look.

He glances over his shoulder once, trying to see if he can spot red eyes or black fur in the night behind him, and he turns around, and hits something warm and solid and--

Hands grab his shoulders, dark hair falls down framing her face and Derek freezes, breath catching in the back of his throat.

The only thing more terrifying than a monstrous fully transformed alpha werewolf in the woods is his mother, staring disapprovingly at him. "I thought you were trying to get a good night's sleep before school tomorrow," his Mom glares at him.

"Uh… it was Peter's fault?"

Peter glares at him.

 

Talia scolds them both as if they are her children. She’d probably send Peter to his room if she still could, but Peter slinks out to his own apartment before she can. He is bristling with indignation - Talia has no right to order him around like that. She has no right to tell him what he can and can’t do. He’s not a _child…_

Deaton had been there. Peter had seen the way the druid had looked, nervous and apprehensive. It’s the worst kept secret that Deaton is Talia’s emissary, and that he’s in love with her. He spends more time around the alpha she-wolf than is strictly necessary, and it’s sickening. Peter can never imagine being that love struck over something… over anything.

That deer had meant something. So had the fully shifted alpha werewolf. But what exactly Peter didn’t know.

That’s okay. Peter will just have to find out for himself.

 

"Still not talking to me?" Peter asks, narrowing his eyes.

Derek glares at him, "Mom is so pissed off at you," he says, "There's a strange alpha in town and you dragged me into the woods just because of a sacrificed _deer_ …"

"I didn't _drag_ you anywhere," Peter scoffs, "So is this meant to be revenge?" he gestures around him, "Or, let me guess. Don't let your mother find out that we're _back_ in the woods."  
"I dropped my phone!" Derek snaps, scanning the ground, "I can't text Paige if I don't even have my phone…"

"Oh, of course, that pretty little girl of yours," his tone grows softer, tongue curling over the words unpleasantly. He wonders if he can persuade Derek to get her the bite. Then again it's useless if Talia won't agree. And Talia rarely agrees to give out the bite to anybody.

There are times - rare, admittedly - that Peter is in awe of his older sister. She's sixteen years his senior and even after their parents died; she had always been there to look after him.

He remembers the moment a proud Talia and her husband had first given him a little new-born Laura to hold and told him he was an uncle.

And Peter..? Peter hated her for that. For leaving him behind…

He wasn't jealous. Except maybe he was because from that day Peter…? Peter had learned to fend for himself.

The woods around are dark and deep and Peter's grin is not pleasant. Somewhere roams a killer. A wolf with red eyes that can rival Talia for power and his sister…

She isn't worried. She should be, Peter thinks. He would be, if he was the alpha.

And he'd make a much better alpha than Talia.

"Can't you scent it?" Peter drawls. He's not even looking for the stupid phone, watching his nephew stalk the woods in a perpetual huff is too much fun.

"You could try to help."

"When watching you is so entertaining?"

Derek looks up to bite something back - he's getting better with the comebacks the longer he spends with Peter. He's almost proud of Talia's only son. But Derek's words die in his mouth and he steps back, staring at something over Peter's shoulder. Peter turns, not expecting anything and he almost jumps when he realises there is someone standing there.

He's instantly on alert. Because he didn't hear the guy sneak up, didn't scent him…

"Sorry," the guy says, stepping forwards and making himself known only once they've noticed him. It's rude, in Peter's opinion, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I wasn't frightened," Derek says, in a way that suggests he kind of was. Now he just looks slightly put-out by the guy lurking in the woods.

The man grins, the corners of his mouth twitching. He looks about Peter's age, maybe a few years older at most. His skin is tanned, and he's Latino or something because his hair is almost black. The hint of a smile only highlights his jaw that looks like it's been punched out of shape at one point. It's probably natural, but there's a slight angle to it that could hint at a past injury to the jaw. "I couldn't help overhear," the guy says, his eyes wide and eager like a puppy, "But I heard you were looking for your phone?"

Something whizzes through the air, and were Derek not a werewolf, Peter would have had the joy of watching his nephew get brained by his own cell phone. Instead Derek catches it, blinking at the object in surprise.

The newcomer doesn't look shocked at his reactions. If anything he just looks more amused, "This is private property," he gestures around him, "You're also intruding."

"Uh… sorry…" Derek says, "We didn't know…" Peter wants to roll his eyes as Derek turns on the Hale charm but the newcomer shuts him down.

"You kids shouldn't be hanging around in the woods," he warns, "You never know what could be lurking around," with a shrug, he turns as if to go.

"Mom will so kill me if she finds out about this," Derek mutters, gazing after the guy.

Peter thinks he should know the other man, his memory tickling at him, but he comes up with nothing. "It's just as well," he says, "that she never has to find out about this."

It really is. Peter is going to work out this whole thing before his sister. He'll go in with all the information while Talia is still struggling to recognise the players.

It's new, it's strange, it's dangerous and thrilling and a game Peter has no idea how to play, but he'll try anyway.

He's good at playing games.

 

Home is tedious. Peter lives alone, despite Talia's insistence he finds someone else. Even his daughter doesn't live with him. Talia doesn’t seem to have realised that the four year old has moved into the spare room. It’s easier that she lives with his sister anyway, the alpha keeps fretting about when the transformations would hit, especially considering the Malia’s half and half heritage. Peter just constantly wonders how on earth he got stuck with a four year old kid. "No," he chides Malia who sits in front of him on the floor, playing with building blocks that at one point in time belonged to Derek. The DH is still carved into the wood, "No," Peter says again as he tries to get the wood out of her mouth. She snaps at him instead, "No biting!" he warns her.

She pouts at him, still trying to nibble on his finger.

"What did I say about biting?" he snatches his finger away.

"Not without clear and concise consent," she says. She has no idea what it means, but she quotes him anyway. He closes his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. When he opens them again, Malia is biting into a piece of cake made out of 90% icing. With a snarl Peter quickly appropriates the sugary treat in favour of a banana.

It makes no difference to Malia. She bites into it with gusto, not even trying to peel it. Peter thinks she is teething again, but Talia tells him they don't teeth at four years old.

Talia _loves_ Malia. She thinks the little coyote girl is a sign that Peter's becoming a responsible, family man. Peter disagrees. Malia is an inconvenience that came from sleeping with the wrong were-creature. He should have known it would come back to bite him in the ass.

In his pocket his phone begins to vibrate. His daughter - and god, how he hates that word - pauses in chewing the banana to remove the soggy mess from her mouth and declare, "Daddy, your phone is ringing!" as if it's the most exciting thing ever. Mostly Malia doesn't like to talk, she prefers to use animal growls or snarls so Peter accepts her announcement as a new stage in her development, nods in agreement and pulls out his cell phone.

Derek's name flashes on the screen and Peter feels his day just getting better and better. "Derek," Peter purrs as he answers the call, wondering why his errant nephew is phoning him, "Talking to me again, are you?"

"Shut up, Peter," Derek snaps, "You need to get your ass over to the school. Now"

"I thought you disapproved of me hanging out with teenagers," Peter says although secretly he's irked. Derek can't just give him orders, he's not the alpha. He stands, leaving Malia chewing a banana on the floor. Walking over to the kitchen, Peter almost trips on five individual unpaired shoes of varying sizes. This is why Peter lives elsewhere, the house is far too crowded with a seventeen, fifteen, eight and four year old and that's not even starting on the adults.

"I-- that's not--" Derek fumbles for a moment, "Shut up. There's another body."

"Another deer?" one eyebrow rises in interest.

"No. This one… this one is human."

 

Derek told Peter the body was human.

What he didn't say was about how the guy had been fucking crucified to the school bus.

The bright yellow is splattered with blood like some morbid work of art. Several windows are broken and the door is completely and mysteriously crushed. It looks like it's been through a car crusher, except it's still somehow attached the hinges, albeit at a ninety degree angle. A werewolf could do that, Peter thinks, but there are no finger or claw marks in the metal, just total and complete pressure and destruction.

And the bus driver…

They're removing the body already when he gets there. The police are trying to cover it up, but Peter sees.

Oh does he see.

And he's never been so turned on before.

The man is spread eagled over the windscreen of the bus. Shards of glass lie around him, and his arms are splayed out to the sides. He's kept hanging by pieces of metal that twist around them with the same brute force that destroyed the door. The guy hangs between them, his ribs open and Peter catches sight of red bloody organs and a heart in between the stark white of the bone.

He can almost picture how the scene played out. He can picture the driver, locking up his school bus late at night when he hears something. Footsteps, or maybe he just hears the shattering of the window or the door being crushed against the hinges. Someone… or something had grabbed him. Thrown him clean through the front window. Then picked him up and torn him to shreds.

Peter thinks he's going to be disappointed if the crooked jaw guy had been the murderer - he doesn't look like he's creative enough to do something this magnificent.

"I don't like the way you're looking at that body," Derek says, and he has a disgusted face on. He disapproves, Peter can smell it. "Do you think it is the same guy from the woods? Or maybe that monster wolf that killed the deer…"

"Wolves," Peter says, "Don't crucify people."

"No. But werewolves do."

 

"What do you think happened to the bus driver?" Paige asks him at lunch time. For once she's forsaken studying to sit next to him, whispering in his ear. The whole school is whispering. Derek can hear it like a buzzing in his head. Everybody wants to know the same thing - what happened to the bus driver?

Derek doesn't know. But he thinks he might. He had seen his Mom and Deaton checking out the area, the vet sprinkling magical powder or something through the air.

What are the chances, Derek thinks, of them finding a massive alpha werewolf in the woods with a dead deer, the next day meeting a stranger who had said they were intruding, and then a dead bus driver, only another day later?

Slim, he thinks, so, so slim.

Paige waves a hand in front of his face, "What's the matter?" she asks with a smile, "Your head's in the clouds today."

"Just thinking," he says.

"Oh, is that what that loud cranking was?" she teases him lightly; "Here I thought something was dying." Her smiles flickers, and then fades, "They're saying mountain lion," she shares with him, "But I… I don't see how a mountain lion could possibly do _that_ to a person."

Derek thinks back to the body, to the police, the yellow tape and scent of blood and the silhouette of the man hanging there, the students milling around, far too late to stop them seeing. He wonders about who found the body, how it sat there for a good while before someone wandered around towards the parked buses and saw it there…

"Again," Paige snaps a finger this time, "Are you okay?" she looks worried, "Is this a…" she lowers her voice, glancing around, "… _wolf thing_?" she finishes.

Derek chews his lip, "Peter and I went into the preserve the other night," he admits to Paige.

"Oh my god," she stares, wide-eyed, "At night?"

"Yeah," he nods, "There was a dead deer and Peter was curious."

His girlfriend's nose wrinkles, "A dead deer? How is that interesting?"

"That's not the interesting thing," he leans forwards, "There was a wolf in the preserve. A massive, black wolf with red eyes... that means it’s an alpha and I'm thinking, what if the werewolf killed the bus driver?"

"But why..?" Paige asks with a shake of her head, "Wolves, even werewolves, don't go around killing people at random. You can look for suspects all you like, but you won't get very far. What you really need is motive - who would want to kill the bus driver?"

"Hey," Derek and Paige leap apart in surprise as Laura drops down in a seat next to him, "Sorry, did I interrupt you two happy-kid’s chat?" she taunts with a laugh, "I heard you talking about the bus driver. And wolves which, in future reference, don't do so loudly!"

Paige looks guilty and Derek blanches, "You can't tell Mom," he hisses.

Laura gazes at him, jaws slack, "You mean you still haven't told Mom that you told your girlfriend?" she asks.

"You can't tell her!"

His older sister sighs, "She probably knows," she shrugs, "But whatever, little brother. It's your problem."

"What do you want, anyway?" Derek says, glancing sulkily at his uneaten food. Laura snatches it away from him, sniffing at the sandwich, discarding it and grabbing for the apple which she bites into with glee.

"Your girlfriend is very clever," she tells Derek.

"I am?" Paige sounds surprised, then blinks, "What, I mean, of course I am. What did I say that was clever?"

"Motive," Laura swallows her mouthful of apple, "So it turns out that guy - Garrison Myers - before he was a bus driver, he used to be in insurance. He retired after his last big case which…" she stops to chew on another bite of apple. Probably also just to leave Derek hanging.

"Go on," he prompts, "Share with the class."

Laura laughs, "He investigated the fire up at the preserve. Y'know, the one that they declared an electrical fire?"

Derek takes a moment to mull it over. He's heard about the fire that happened six years ago. Everyone has. It was a tragedy. Eight dead. That was the last count, he remembers. Eight dead. Eleven trapped inside and only three survivors. He frowns, not understanding; "I don't get it," he says, "If the fire was an accident…" he stops as soon as he says it.

Paige bites her lip. Laura smirks, "Now you're getting it," she says, "They've reopened the case. They think the fire wasn't such an accident anymore."

"Just because one guy who used to be an insurance investigator for it dies..?" Paige frowns, "That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

Derek gazes at his sister. He knows her so well, and he can tell there's something she's not saying. Something she still has to get off her chest, "There's more, isn't there?" he feels dread welling in his stomach, "What is it?"

"They brought someone in for questioning,” Laura tells him, "That’s the only reason they even spotted the link to the fire because… the person who found the body… used to be part of the family in the preserve. One of the three who escaped the fire.”

 

"If they arrested the person who has been killing people, then why are we out here?"

Derek's voice is an irritating whine behind Peter. "You didn't have to come," he reminds his nephew. It's true; he had been planning to come out here anyway. They think the bus driver was killed in revenge for the fire.

 _This_ fire.

He stops in front of the house. Standing here, even six years after the incident, he can still smell the thick scent of smoke. It clings to every particle in front of it, saturates it, and seeps into the air around it until Peter can taste the flames as if he was standing there when the whole place caught ablaze.

"What is this place?" Derek hisses, "Oh god, this is _that_ house… the fire house, the one Mom told us wasn’t haunted but we couldn’t go look around it because it was out of our territory. _Peter_ , Mom is going to kill us…"

"We're not telling Talia anything," Peter chides.

"Can we tell Laura?" Derek blanches at the thought of keeping secrets like it's the worst thing in the world.

Peter raises one eyebrow, "Do you really want Laura tagging along on your heels?"

His nephew looks appropriately cowed, "No. She's always telling me what to do."

"Exactly," point made, he thinks, "You know what this place is, right?"

Derek gives a disgruntled sigh, "They think the bus driver was killed because it had something to do with this fire," he gestures at the building, "but they arrested someone. Shouldn't that be the end of it?"

"They brought someone in for questioning," he corrects. "Which means we should look around their old house before they get let out of the sheriff’s station."

"Look around…? _Peter_!"

He ignores his nephew, stepping up towards the building. The wood creaks beneath his feet. The place is long dead, the woods around it already claiming back the land. He wonders if the people who lived here still owns the place or if they've sold it back to the council.

It's linked. He knows it is. The alpha wolf is linked to the murder which is linked to the fire. The fire and this place.

Peter looks around, but all he can smell is fire and ash. There is something else, something choking beneath that but he can't tell what. Maybe its just his imagination. It's a tragedy, he thinks, that so many died this way. It's a tragedy as well that they never found out who did it. Electrical fire, that's what the insurance investigator said. Except now it's looking like it isn't. It was arson. Intentional arson, but why would anyone want to intentionally burn a family alive. What was so special about this family?

Dust scatters beneath his feet and he pauses, crouching down.

"Peter…?" Derek has followed him in, and now he takes in the sight of Peter poking at the dust on the floor, "What are you doing, Uncle, this house isn't safe--"

He stops talking as Peter finally gives up caution in favour of touching the dust.

It zaps him. Blue sparks and a sting and he withdraws his hand with a hurried hiss.

"Woah!" Derek says, moving forwards to peer at the dust, "What is that? What happened? Are you okay?"

He doesn't want to touch it again. Doesn't think he even can, and he's heard about this stuff. The vet clinic is lined with it, and there are sections of the high school that have intentional wooden panelling.

Peter doesn't want to touch it again, but a curious Derek pokes it anyway. The flash of blue light and his nephew’s pained gasp just confirms his theory.

"It's mountain ash," Peter straightens, "It's used to ward against supernatural creatures."

"Ward…" Derek peers up at him, "You mean stop them getting in?"

"Or…" Peter looks around, most the mountain ash burnt and blown away, but there is a dark smear here and there, where some has bonded to the wood beneath, "Stop them getting out."

It goes jaggedly through the house. He can hear Derek's heart beat growing more and more erratic and his nephew begins to put it together, "You're saying the family that lived here… they were supernatural?"

"Not just supernatural," Peter says, taking note of the flowers that have erupted in the remains of the living room. They're growing like a weed, pushing their way up between the floorboards and reaching towards the light, "That's wolfsbane. I think the family that lived here used to be werewolves."

"You're right."

Peter almost has an early heart attack. Derek whirls around so wildly he knocks his hand against the doorway with a loud thump and a curse. Peter turns slower, more sedate but his heart is pounding. Over the smell of the wolfsbane and the smoke and ash he couldn't scent the stranger. He hadn't even heard him.

Taking in the man leaning against the wood, Peter realises not so much a stranger. "I thought I told you kids," the guy says, "this is private property." He sounds amused at their tenacity, that they're still coming back, even after he warned them away, "The woods, I don't mind, but the house? Not cool - this place isn't safe. Especially not for you."

"Because of the wolfsbane," Peter says, and then it clicks, just suddenly, staring at the guy with his dark brown - almost black hair and brown eyes Peter knows who this is, "You're Scott McCall," everything makes so much sense, it all fits together, "You're the alpha from the woods."

Derek takes a full step backwards, "This is your house?" he blurts out, as if that is the most important part of the sentence.

"Yes," Scott answers, but it’s hard to tell who he is talking to, "And you're still trespassing." He gestures towards the doorway, "Why don’t we take this conversation outside?"

They spill out into the evening dusk. It gets easier to breath almost as soon as he's outside. The stench of the wolfsbane is still stuck in his throat but at least it’s not as choking as before. Derek follows, before putting several metres between themselves and McCall.

"We're sorry," Derek says, "We didn't mean to trespass…"

"It's okay," Scott says, "I don't mind - I don't live here anymore."

"Thank god," Peter drawls, "The interior decorating in this place could use some work."

"Peter," Derek hisses, "Don't be rude."

"It's okay," Scott leads them outside, "I had a friend, he used to talk just like that." He stops, abruptly.

"Did you kill that deer?" Peter interrupts, "Or that bus driver? You were in the fire. They wrote it down as electrical failure but you… you disagree."

Derek is looking exceedingly nervous. He steps backwards, looking like he's ready to run again. But McCall doesn't look like he's about to go full shift on them, he just looks tired. Tired and older than he probably is. He's Peter's age. He was nineteen during the fire, Peter remembers reading the reports. Nineteen then would make him twenty-five now. A year older than him.

He remembers the reports. But they said nothing about the family being werewolves.

"I didn't kill the deer," Scott says, "I was looking into it, the same as you were. I got there after you. I booked into a motel half an hour earlier. You can check, if you want. I barely had time to reach the preserve, let alone sacrifice a deer in the woods."

"Then that guy… why did you kill Myers?"

"I didn't kill anyone," Scott says with a scoff, "Really, do you go around accusing everyone who hangs out in the woods as being a serial killer?"

"You’re an alpha!" Peter spits, "That means you must have killed someone!"

For a moment's Scott's face flickers, indecision clear on his face. He gazes at them, frowning slightly. "Derek and Peter Hale," he says, "You're in Talia's pack. Did Talia kill to get her powers then?"

Derek frowns, confused. Peter grits his teeth and even though it pains him, he has to concede to the other werewolf, "No," he says, "She inherited it from our mother when she was ready. Just like Laura will inherit it from her."

"You don't have to kill to become an alpha," Scott tells them with a shrug, sticking his hands into his jacket pockets, "It's just the one that happens most often. Talia inherited. And I… I came into my power." He shakes his head, gaze nostalgic for a moment before it’s gone, "What does it matter?" he asks, "My pack is gone. I haven't murdered anybody, despite your allegations, but believe me, I'd love to find out who did."

The house behind them suddenly feels a lot more foreboding. That could have been them. That could have the Hales that burnt to death, a pack decimated by fire. That could just as easily have been Talia and Peter and Kevin and Selene and Laura and Derek and Peter and…

It doesn't bear much to thinking about. Derek is gazing at this alpha with undisguised awe, "How did you get out?" he blurts out, "If your whole pack…" He gestures wildly at the building, "If the mountain ash trapped you inside then how did you get out?"

Scott stares at them for a moment, "Let me show you," he says, then starts walking towards a car parked down the drive.

For a moment Derek and Peter hesitate. "What if he's the killer?" Derek whispers.

"Then if he doesn't kill us, my sister certainly will."

"Come on!" Scott calls over his shoulder, "This will hopefully prove I'm not a murderer."

"After you," Derek says, cheekily.

Peter really hates his nephew.

 

"I told you I had a friend who used to be 80% sarcasm. 70 on a good day," Scott pushes open the door and steps through. Peter and Derek follow, even though neither wants to. Peter doesn't like hospitals. They smell too much of the sick and injured and for a werewolf that feels wrong… unnatural. They don't get sick. They don't stay injured.

So he usually tries to stay away from hospitals. Avoids the Beacon Hills Memorial like the plague. And yet Scott McCall had brought them right here, lead them with a determined and resigned expression to the long term care ward.

Peter can't read the name on the door. It's just a jumble of letters, it doesn't really many sense.

"That friend I mentioned - he didn't die," Scott's voice is thick. Heavy. Weighed down with emotions.

Peter just finds emotions cumbersome. A bother. He wades past that to the real meaning of the words, to the facts in front of his eyes.

"I told him…" Scott pauses, then starts again, "I said the house wasn't safe. And it isn't. It wasn't. Stiles… he got me out, but a beam fell. I couldn't… I should have done something but by the time we were outside he was unconscious. He never woke up."

Peter stares at the body. He can hear the heart beating, the pump of the machines beeping… the body isn't dependent on them. The male lying in the hospital bed is alive, but awake?

"The doctors say it's unlikely he'll ever wake. The burns… used to be a lot worse. He's healed, physically, but mentally… they say he's not there. That's he's as good as dead, just a puppet."

 

_He gets Lydia out first._

_He doesn't even think about it. It's all instinct. He can picture what his dad would say to him about running straight into a burning building but that fact barely even registers to Stiles. The fact the house is on fire comes second when it comes to the simple and devastating fact that his pack are still inside._

_Lydia's on the floor in the living room. A phone lies in her hands, and she is still. So still, Stiles thinks she's dead for a moment before he sees the blood on her head and sees her breathing. "Lydia," he begs, "Lydia please…"_

_She's warm under his hands. He rocks her shoulders gently, then harder, fingers clawing bruises into her arm in his desperation._

_"Lydia!"_

_She stirs. Groggily, and slowly, she blinks awake, and that's all Stiles needs to grab her, tugging her weight up and over his shoulder. She leans heavily on him, sounding confused as she blinks and asks, "Stiles? What is it? What's wrong?"_

_"The house is on fire," he says. Lydia's warm, but compared to the heat around him she's cool to touch. He feels her head turn, feels her heart beat stutter as she realises what is going on._

_They stumble out onto the front of the house in a mass of smoke. Lydia is coughing, Stiles is just waiting for the moment when he starts as well, when the smoke finally reaches his lungs. The outside air hits them like a cold, freezing mass and they collapse down, Lydia's weight finally bringing Stiles to his knees._

_"I saw them," Lydia whispers, staring in horror at the soil beneath them, "They didn't know I was there, but I saw them… they knocked me out…"_

_"Who?" Stiles asks, "Who, Lydia?"_

_She looks up, green gaze shattered and broken and--_

_Someone howls. Stiles whirls around, "Scott?" he asks, horror overcoming him. The wolves are still in there. He thought they'd have escaped by now using the tunnels, but they're still--_

_They're trapped, he realises. Trapped inside and the fire--_

_"My dad's in there," he says in realisation, "Scott… my dad…" he begins to stand but Lydia drags him back down._

_"Stiles, you can't go back in there. You'll die!"_

_"And they'll die if I don't!" he tugs his hand away, shoving forwards and moving back towards the house. The last thing he hears before he vanishes inside is Lydia's scream._

_"STILES! DON'T!"_

 

_Scott's not sure where the fire started. Or how. He smells gasoline and something else, something strong that burns fast and quickly and--_

_"Again!" the Sheriff throws his weight against the door. Scott follows, but just when he feels the metal of the door begin to break and bend, he hits a barrier and is knocked back._

_"It's not working!" Liam gasps out. He's doubled over and until a minute ago had been helping. But now Scott can see the black beginning to spread beneath Liam’s veins as the poison in the air begins to affect the younger wolf. "Scott, it's not working!"_

_Scott tries again. The same effect. There must be mountain ash or something lining the door though, because he can't push it open. The ward won't let him. The metal door itself wasn't meant to stop them getting out, it was just a safety measure, he and Stiles had gotten it built for the full moons after one too many night of having to drag Liam or one of the other betas back from the middle of the town._

_"Again!" he shouts. The only way this will work is if the Sheriff manages to knock the door past the mountain ash line. But this time there is only one thud as his shoulder hits the door._

_Stilinski is lying still against the wall, his chest rising and falling. Even through the screams and sobbing Scott can hear the rasping breath of the Sheriff. The smoke is thick and the flames burn hotter. Liam backs away from them, but falls down, black forming at his lips._

_The tunnels are blocked. The door to the house is sealed. Scott is going to die in here. Scott is going to die--_

_"NO!" in one last effort he throws himself at the door. He'll break the mountain ash line by himself then. He's done it before, he can do it again, he can--_

_The metal bends. Buckles. It begins to move, begins to creak and then just like before Scott hits the blue of the mountain ash. It sparks against him, warning him back but he doesn't let it, he pushes and holds his own and--_

_It snaps open. The door crashes off its hinge and with the fresh air the fire behind him flares and burns and--_

_"Scott, SCOTT!" It's Stiles. He's pale and smoke stained, his eyes are wide and terrified and fine grains of mountain ash stick to his fingers. Scott's emissary pulls him away from the flames towards the stairs, shoving him towards them._

_"Wait- Stiles!" Scott chokes out, "What are you doing?"_

_"My dad…" Stiles moves towards the door, "I have to get my dad…"_

_For one awful moment it looks like Stiles is about to go back into the flames. But Scott gets there first, dragging his best friend and emissary back, "You can't," he says, "We need to get out, Stiles, we need to go…"_

_It happens then, in a creak and a bright white hot flare of the fire licking around them. With a groan one of the basement supports topples, the beam it holds up dropping as the heat eats through it like termites._

_"Get out of the way!" Stiles says, and they both move away from the basement, towards the stairs, just as with a rush of heat the beam crashes down on top of them._

_It's hot. It's burning and so, so hot, it's like the sun has fallen around them and every inch of Scott's skin itches and burns. He screams, eyes flaring red as he drags both himself and Stiles out of the basement. The upper floors of the house aren't any better. They're dying around him and Stiles and his claws dig into the human's arm, not letting go, he can't let go._

_Lydia lets out a gasp of relief as the pair appears, "Scott? Stiles? Oh my god, I thought you were dead, I thought you were…"_

_Scott still feels like he's on fire. He collapses to the soil and presses his face to the dirt which feels like ice on his face. There is someone patting his shirt and when he looks blearily up at Lydia, he realises it’s because he is still on fire. His shirt is flaring like a match and with a sob, Lydia extinguishes it with a clod of wet soil before turning to Stiles._

_His skin feels sizzled and raw. The beam had caught him across the shoulder, and he can feel it beginning to heal already, the terrible itch as it knits itself back together but Stiles--_

_Stiles had been right next to him. The other side of the beam had knocked into the right side of the emissary's shoulder, and Stiles…_

_Stiles can't heal._

_His best friend's skin is melted along the one side of his face and collar bone. There is blood that is sticky and dried already on his forehead from where the beam had struck. And while his heart is beating, he isn't moving. He's still, so still that Scott almost thinks he's dead if not for the heat beat._

_"Call 911," Scott tells Lydia urgently where she's trying to peel Stiles' melted shirt off his body before it sticks in the wounds._

_She looks up at him, "The others…" she stops, "Scott?"_

_He shakes his head. He can't get to them even if he wants to. The stairs have collapsed and the tunnels…_

_He's an alpha. He's supposed to protect his pack._

_Yet in this instance he has never felt so hopeless._

_"I don't…" he shakes his head, "I…" He doesn't know what to do and he's about to say as much to Lydia when a shadow falls across them in the firelight. He looks up, hoping against all hopes that somebody else got out…_

_Her dark hair falls past her face and her brown eyes are sad, so, **so** sad as she stares at the three of them, ash-stained and burnt. Scott's words choke in his throat a second before the anger hits._

_"You." He lurches upwards, claws sliding out and fangs bared. He must look like a monster at that moment, like one of the things she hunts with mangled skin and red eyes, "You knew… you knew about this. You knew, didn't you?"_

_"No!" she shakes her head, taking a step backwards, away from him, "No, Scott, I didn't know, I swear I didn't know what she was planning…"_

_"Then how…" Scott lets the claws slide away, the red die. If not Allison then who… "Your aunt," he realises, the pieces falling into place, "Kate…"_

_Allison shakes her head again, tears rising up, "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her gaze flickering with utter horror at the still burning house behind them. "Scott, I swear I didn't know she'd do this. She said… she just wanted to talk, to work out a truce… I told her some stuff…"_

_"You told her some stuff." His voice is quite. Dead. It's chilling to hear, even to his own ears, "Some STUFF? She destroyed us!" his voice rises, but he's too upset, too angry to even think straight, "She… she… I'm going to kill her. I am going to rip her throat out and leave her for the crows…" He moves forwards, eyes flaring red again and Allison slides into his path._

_"Scott, you can't!" she says, earnestly, "You can't do it…"_

_Scott barely curbs his temper. "Allison, get out of my way. I don't want to hurt you…"_

_"Scott, no, please, you can't…"_

_"Allison--" he warns. He really means it. He doesn't want to hurt her. He loves her, but right now he's not so sure anymore._

_She still won't move, "You can't go after her," her voice is strong. Demanding. Even though her eyes glisten with tears she doesn't waver. "There are hunters coming. Right now. They're coming for you and if you're still here then they'll kill you. All of you."_

_A noise from Lydia has him turning back. She's still crouched in the soil by Stiles, her usually perfect strawberry blonde locks damp and muddied, "We need to run," she whispers, "We… we need to take Stiles and run. Get out of here… before we burn too."_

_The huntress clears her throat, cautiously speaking, "I - uh - I know a place. That you can stay--"_

_She's shot down by Lydia so fast Scott's surprised she doesn't get whiplash, "Oh, you know a place?" Lydia's voice is layered with sarcasm that borders on the edge of cruelty, "Will this one burn down as well?"_

_Allison stifles a sob, "Lydia, I'm sorry, I didn't know, I swear I would have tried to stop it, I'm sorry--"_

_"I don't want your pity!" Lydia spits at her friend, "I want your absence."_

_Allison turns her gaze to Scott, "Scott--"_

_"She's right," his voice is harsh. Unyielding. Allison flinches, "You need to go."_

_"But the hunters--"_

_"GO!"_

_Her face falls, but then grows cold. Understanding._

_"And Allison?" She looks at him, "I don't want to see you again."_

_She moves away, and she seems unable to stop her eyes glancing up at the burning building, "I know you don't believe me," she calls out before she disappears, "But I am sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen and I swear I'll do everything I can to make it right." Then she's gone, vanished into the shadows._

_"Come on," Scott turns slowly back to Lydia. His muscles are stiff and aching. He wants to curl up and cry in his mother's arms. His mother who is still alive. Lydia's mother on the other hand…_

_On the ground Stiles' pulse stutters. Scott freezes and even Lydia stares with concern at him, "He's not waking up," she realises, "Stiles? STILES!"_

_Scott reaches frantically for his friends pulse. It starts again, and he slumps down in relief, looking up and meeting Lydia's gaze._

_"No," she shakes her head, "No, I can't leave anyone else behind."_

_"I can't bite him," Scott whispers. "Not without his consent."_

_"He needs a hospital," Lydia whispers, "He needs help… we can't… if we run, we can't bring him. He won't make, Scott, he's dying. Dear god, I can feel it, I can… I can…" she sobs, voice cracking and eyes scrunching closed. Her breath is shaky._

_"We'll stay," Scott whispers to her, "We'll stay…"_

_"But what if Allison is right? About the hunters, about Kate…"_

_"We'll stay," Scott promises Lydia and Stiles both, even though his friend can't hear him, "We'll stay, for as long as it takes…"_

"We stayed three days," Scott tells Peter and Derek, his voice heavy, "Stiles wasn't waking up. And Allison had been right. The hunters had come. Lydia and I had to leave, and we couldn't bring Stiles with us."

Scott is staring at Stiles with an expression of such sadness and regret that Peter turns away in disgust. He picks at the medical chart at the foot of the bed, raising an eyebrow at the extent of the injuries. They're extreme. The burns span the right side of his face, neck, shoulder and upper part of his arm and chest. The muscle has been damaged in the shoulder and apparently there had been issues with his throat - a combination of smoke inhalation and extreme burns.

And Stiles Stilinski isn't a werewolf. He won't heal, and that's what the final expression in Scott's eyes is: the loss of hope as he stares at his friend.

The awkward silence that had built up since Scott had finished his storytelling is broken by the door opening and a nurse stepping in. She pauses, startles at the people in the room and then breaks into a smile, "Scott!" she says, voice joyful, "You didn't tell me you were visiting Stiles!"

She looks similar to Scott, and when the pair hugs he even takes a sniff. Even though the alpha is hiding most of his scent, he can't quite hide the similarity between them. Scott shuffles past the woman and Peter and Derek follow, gathering in the hall outside. "It… uh… wasn't actually planned," Scott says, nervously, rubbing at the back of his head. His face flickers through several emotions before settling on guilt, "I… I don't like to see him like that. Lyds and I… we phone, but we… we haven't been in this part of the country for a while."

"You didn't even tell me you were in town," the woman scolds. Her name tag reads 'Melissa'. Peter eyes her up and down. She's kind of hot. "You're the Hale kids, aren't you?" she spots Derek and Peter.

Derek nods but Peter curls his lip, "Talia's my sister," he corrects her. He hates being mistaken as another of Talia's brood.

And speaking of Talia…

Peter turns with resignation and annoyance as a familiar scent wafts along the corridor. Peter's heart sinks and Derek just squeaks, sidling behind Scott's shadow. Scott straightens, looking mildly curious at the new arrival. He winces slightly, but otherwise looks calm at the sight of Talia Hale marching down the corridor towards them, followed by Alan Deaton.

"Scott McCall," she stops a metre or so in front of him, "You didn't tell me you were back in town."

"I wasn't intending to stay," Scott says, his voice measured, "I just had to check something out but then the murders…" he shrugs, "I decided to hang around."

Talia shoots a sharp glance to where Derek and Peter stand in his shadow. Her gaze screams disappointment, "And you two…" she shakes her head, "We're going to talk about this later," she tells them. "You shouldn't encourage them," she scolds Scott.

He grins, weakly, "They're already better than we were as teenagers, don't you remember?"

"I try not to," Talia says, "Even before you earned your alpha status you almost drove Deucalion mad, what with him trying to get you to join his pack when you already had humans following you like you were their alpha." Her voice sounds almost fond. Peter tries to remember what interactions she had had with this pack but he can't. He doesn't remember meeting them, doesn't remember any other wolves in Beacon Hills, not since the Packs last met.

Except that would be a lie. He remembers the Packs coming to town. He remembers what a mess it was and the disaster in its wake and maybe that's why this slipped through the cracks. Why he didn't notice…

He was idle. He can't be idle again. Not this time.

"How did you know we were at the hospital?" Scott asks, inclining his head in respect to the older alpha.

Talia gestures behind him to the room, "We didn't," she says, "But I heard rumours that the fire that had devastated your pack came into play regarding the bus driver, so I thought it best to check on the remainder of your pack."

"Well it's not Stiles," Scott glances over his shoulder and then tears his gaze away, "He's still in a coma. I thought by now…" he cuts himself off, "It's not me, and it's not Lydia. I don't know who else."

"So it's just coincidence?" Deaton hums, "That you come back to town just in time for these murders?" He's not accusing Scott, just probing gently.

Scott laughs, turning the question down, "We didn’t come for the murders," he says, "We came because of the murders."

"What do you mean?" Peter blurts out, because that doesn't make sense. Scott glances at him, about to open his mouth but then--

Someone screams. It is loud and everywhere at once and it echoes in his ears even after it stops. All the wolves flinch. Nearby Melissa pauses in stacking paperwork to meet Scott's gaze. His face is twisted.

"What…" Derek blinks, "Was that?"

Deaton appeared unable to hear it but with a raised eyebrow at Talia, he says gravely, "I believe that," he says, "Was the cry of a banshee."

"It's Lydia," Scott says, pushing past Talia, "there's another murder."

 

"So you’re psychic or something."

"I'm _not_ a psychic."

"Something?"

" _Maybe_."

There is a red-haired woman standing outside a video rental store. She's talking to one of the deputies, and she has him wrapped around her little finger.

And she is beautiful, Peter thinks, absolutely stunning. Her hair is more of a strawberry-blonde that cascades loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes are a sparkling green that glitter with intelligence. She stands there, arms crossed and her fingers digging imprints into her upper arm, but still confident and undaunted by anything.

"So you mean to tell me that you finding the first body and then the second body is just a coincidence."

"Yes," she says, primly, "Once is an incident. Twice is coincidence, three times, that's when you really see a pattern. You can't, after all, determine a trend or pattern from only one point of data."

"So are you saying I should expect another body?"

The girl doesn't answer, tilting her head to one side and as she does so spotting Scott heading straight for her, "Excuse me," she steps around the deputy who lets her, moving away. The girl heads to Scott, expression breaking down slightly, "You took a while," she says.

"I had… friends…" Scott gestures awkwardly behind him. The girl rolls her eyes at seeing the others, Talia and Deaton already talking to the police to be able to slip through. "Lydia - are you okay? Normally you just call… you don't… scream. Not like that. Not unless you're predicting…"

"Well…" the girl shrugs, "I guess I got here early. You know the deal by now. Dead body that-a-way…" she points towards the store. Scott nods his thanks and heads off when she calls after him, "And Scott?" he turns, "there's a spiral all around the store."

There's something Lydia isn't saying. Peter sidles closer to her, then is distracted by the prospect of another body.

"Stay outside!" Talia snaps as he takes another step forwards and Peter stills, frustration bubbling up within him. He had wanted to see this body; he had wanted to see what work of art this one had become…

"You're not welcome here," Lydia's curt voice has him spinning around. Derek is trying to ignore the girl, looking elsewhere but now he stares up with wide-eyes at the newcomer. Anther woman with long dark brown hair that hangs loosely to her shoulders has appeared from a dark Toyota Camry.

The woman stops nearby, and Lydia stalks forwards. The newcomer steps back, hands up to show peace, "I don't mean any harm," she says.

"Allison," Lydia lets her gaze rove over the new woman, her tone sharp, "It's been a while."

"Allison?" Derek mouths. Peter stays silent, contemplating. This is the hunter. The girl McCall had been in love with.

Argent. He's heard about the Argents. They're legendary. They're the boogeymen for werewolves, behave or the Argents will get you. But the reality… is just a girl, dark hair, dark jacket, pretty brown eyes and a necklace of silver around her neck.

She's not that scary.

"Yeah," Argent sighs, "I haven't seen you since that wendigo incident last year." Her voice is tense, awkward, trying to make small talk but Lydia ignores it, skipping straight to the issue at hand.

"In hindsight," Lydia hums, "It should have been obvious that you'd come back to Beacon Hills."

"I heard what happened."

"Of course. And you couldn't care less until you heard that Scott McCall had come back to Beacon Hills."

Argent looks frustrated, "I didn't come back for Scott," she says, "I came back because I heard someone had _died_."

"People die all the time," Lydia says, "I should know. You don't care about any of them."

Allison grits her teeth. Peter can hear them grinding as she hisses, "None of _them_ were complicit in what my aunt did six years ago!"

Lydia takes a step backwards, raising one eyebrow, "So it's true," she breathes, "he was…" Allison nods, and Lydia's jaw clenches.

" _Allison_."

Derek makes a muffled whine and tries to duck his head, but Peter just smirks, enjoying watching the young alpha McCall as he steps out of the video store. He is staring at Allison like he's been physically punched or shot with an arrow. A cupid's arrow, Peter thinks. McCall would probably have stood there forever just gazing at her but Talia and Deaton step out from behind him. Talia stiffens like a bloodhound, staring at the hunter.

The _Argent_.

Allison notices them. A weak smile flitters across her face and vanishes, "Scott," she says, "Talia… I… I'm not here to hunt. I'm here to help."

"I know," Scott sounds genuine, "But this isn't a good time."

"When is it?"

Nearby Lydia scoffs and rolls her eyes, "So awkward," she mutters to herself, probably fully aware of werewolf hearing. She's not a werewolf herself but she is… something. The information is tantalising and Peter could stay and watch it all day but Talia is marching over to them.

"Come on," she says, stiffly, "We're going home."

"Was there another body?" Derek asks, "Is there a link to the fire?"

"Questions later," Peter's alpha snaps.

Peter sighs, reluctantly beginning to trail after Derek. He looks over his shoulder once before he goes, looking at where Scott and Allison stand together, so close they could be mistaken for one person. As he watches Allison leans forwards on tiptoes to kiss Scott gently. It's almost cute.

Almost. If it wasn't sickeningly ironic.

"I didn't want to have to do this," Allison whispers, "But you need to know."

"Need to know what?"

"My dad and aunt heard about the murders. They're coming back to town."

 

They don't see Scott or Lydia for a few days after that. But neither is there another dead body. Peter hears Talia making sounds to her husband about how she thinks that might be it, that it might be over, but Peter doesn't agree.

The second murder was someone who used to be an arsonist.

It's too much of a co-incidence, too many links, too many pieces that are already connected. But if the killer can wait then so can Peter. He'll sit and wait and bide his time. He satisfies himself with stalking Derek and his teenage crush around. They like hanging out in the abandoned distillery outside of town, a frayed rope and a spiral scrawled in the metal the only sign of the chaos that happened seven years ago. Peter doesn't even know what went down, but he wishes he had. He would bet any amount of money that Scott McCall and his now dead Pack had been right in the middle of it.

Derek is with Paige when Talia comes home, rubbing at tired eyes with a smile. Peter glances suspiciously at his nephew, wondering when the girlfriend had become so ingrained into their family.

"Peter!" Talia calls, "Stop standing there, smirking and looking creepy and come help me in the kitchen!"

Paige stifles giggles. Derek glares at the floor and Peter saunters smugly over to his sister, "I don't look creepy," he announces, "I've been told I'm too good looking."

"Of course," Talia agrees amicably, "That's why Malia's mother stayed to hang around after discovering you have such a warm and friendly personality to match your good looks."

Nearby Laura whistles, as if this is some sort of game. Peter narrows his eyes at her blatant support of Talia. Traitor. Cora who is reading her book nearby pretends not to notice, because she's like an icy wasteland who won't communicate with anyone except maybe Derek.

"Talia…" Peter eyes out the door, wandering if it’s possible for him to make a quick escape or not before the next blow.

"It's okay, Peter, you know I'm here for my little brother," her voice is crooning, and a sliver of irritation shoots through him. It sits right there next to everything else. He and Talia barely ever agree on anything. Somehow despite that he still loves his whole family with a fierce protectiveness that is born out of a strong sense of possessiveness more than anything.

"Oh my god," when Talia starts to croon he knows it is time to make an exit. He heads for the door, calling through to Derek in the living room, "Derek, help."

"Still not talking to you."

Peter's not even sure how that works, but is saved from wondering too much about it when there is a knock at the door. He stiffens, head turning towards it and nose flaring as he scents the strong smell of wolf and alpha and a female and--

"Upstairs," Talia recognises the scents before he does, pushing him towards the stairs, "Laura, Cora, you as well."

Derek is standing, frowning in the general direction of the front door. Behind him Paige seems to realise something is going on because she is silent, watching Derek. Peter sees the moment his nephew realises, his face going blank, "It's Scott," he says, "Why can't we stay?"

He can't yet smell what Peter can - the sticky scent of blood clinging to the pair standing outside their door.

"Get upstairs!" Talia snaps, "Even you," she levels her gaze at Peter. He knows better than to argue, even when he hates being grouped in with the kids. He's an adult, but Talia never treats him like one.

"But Mo-om," Laura whines, "Shouldn't I stay…?"

"Upstairs!" Talia says and her tone leaves no room for questions. Laura stomps off upstairs like a petulant teenager and Peter follows, pausing only to scoop up his daughter and bring her along with him. It's not like he needs to take her with him. Malia and Cora both have a tendency to eavesdrop in conversations not meant for their ears whether they are right next to you or the other end of the house, but he's trying to install in her some sense of decency. Talia shoots him a glare so it's totally worth it.

As soon as he's upstairs he dumps her on Laura. Malia coos, "Laura!" she claps her hands together, "What we doing?" she blinks, looking at where Peter and his nieces and nephew are still standing at the top of the stairs.

"We're spying," Laura says in a very serious tone to the four year old, "So we've got to be quiet and listen, okay?"

"I thought you disapproved of listening in on conversations," Cora says, sceptically.

Laura scoffs, "Did I say that? When did I say that?"

"You totally said that."

"Derek, you're meant to back me up on this…"

Peter shushes them, creeping along to a place at the top of the stairs where he can peer down through the banister at the hallway. He can see the arrivals, even if he couldn't hear the warm voice of Scott McCall and the more haughty tones of Lydia Martin. A soft warmth against his leg tells him his daughter is listening right next to him, "You said spying was bad," she tells him.

"It is," he chides, "Don't do it," his gaze slides back down to the hallway, "Hush now, let your father listen. Laura, look after her."

"I'm not looking after your spawn!" Laura hisses. Peter ignores her, tuning them out.

"There's another body," Scott says, a floor below them. If either he or Talia can hear the commotion from them up the stairs, they both pretend they can't hear it.

"I knew this would happen," Talia's shoulders slump, "Who was it this time?"

"A cop," Lydia sounds tired, "I found him just off Devon Street on the corner of Circle."

"Found him?" Derek whispers. "What does she mean 'found him'… she found the other guy too… she screamed…"

"She screamed?" Laura asks, eyes wide, "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Derek nods, "What does that mean?" he's glaring at Peter who stares back unabashedly. It’s not like he had known what the strawberry-blonde was. "The deputy thought she was psychic…"

"She's not psychic. She's a _banshee_ ," Laura hisses at Derek. "A real honest to God _banshee_."

"I didn't think those existed," Cora sniffs, sounding like she doesn’t believe her sister.

"That's because they're so rare," Laura explains, "Nobody actually knows what makes a banshee. Some people think it's genetic but it's not proven. It runs in families but sometimes it doesn't trigger until the woman is older or maybe never. Other rumours say it's another offset of the lycanthropy virus. That some doctors were modifying supernatural creatures and that they basically made a supernatural death detector out of a human."

Peter glances back down, not missing the way Scott's eyes flicker up to them, then away, not saying anything.

"Was…" Talia doesn't know how to ask, "Was the cop… was he…"

"Associated with the fire?" Lydia has a way of stomping all over Talia's attempts to be tactful, "Yes. There were rumours he was accepting bribes. Never any proof but he... He got promoted after…" Lydia's shoulders are laden with tension but she shakes it off with a sweep of her hair, "After the Sheriff died he got a promotion. It's possible he was accepting money on the low."

"Thanks for telling me," Talia says, "I don't know what I can do…"

"I don't think there is anything," Scott exchanges a glance with Lydia, "But we… we should warn you." His voice is low, but it drops even quieter, "We ran into Chris Argent. He's… he's okay. It's Kate you have to watch out for. She gets into town tomorrow night. We don't think she knows about your pack, but just… be careful."

"Oh god," Talia sounds worried. Really, truly worried.

The hunters are coming, Peter thinks, and he can't help but glance to where the five children behind him are listening with pale faces. The hunters are coming and they've grown complacent, grown lax and they…

They're not prepared.

His claws snick out before he's even realised it, eyes flaring gold. Laura is the only one to meet his eyes, to look just as scared as he is. She understands, he thinks, she is the only one who realises…

They are wolves. They are predators but now that the hunters have hit town?

The tables have turned. And they? They are the prey.

 

The rain crashes down, bouncing off the roads into town with the ferocity of the winter winds behind it. A fine mist hovers, making it almost impossible to see clearly between the rain crashing down and the darkness and the fog.

Kate Argent knows the road though. She's lived here before, back when Allison was a teenager and Chris had a place here and Victoria was still alive. Looking back it was a long time ago but now she's here, it's like she's barely been away.

The windscreen wipers work furiously to clear the vision of the road ahead. Her lights are on full but even then it takes her by surprise. One second the road ahead of her is clear, the next there is a figure in the middle of the road, standing there.

Waiting. For her.

If it’s a wolf it will leap over her car. If it’s not, well… Kate doesn't care too much if she runs over a hapless drunk teen in the middle of the night. She doesn't slow down.

That's her mistake. Something crashes into the car. The figure doesn't even move, the car skids and veers around with a screech of tires and Kate frantically spinning the wheel trying to keep it under control. The car rumbles to a halt and fighting off the air bag, Kate grabs her gun and climbs out of the car.

"COME ON!" she shouts, but staggering back through the misty rain, she can't see the figure. They're gone. Her eyes strain in the darkness, and she spins around, following the beam of her headlight. A shadow flashes across moving fast. Maybe that's what hit her car.

She takes aim and fires. She is rewarded by a pained gasp and the dark shape vanishing into the night, not even the street lamps illuminating him. Kate stalks down the road, gun hanging at her side as she goes. God, she leaves this town for a couple of years and already there's a new infestation growing. Curling her lip in disgust, she stops by the street light that had illuminated the shape.

There is nothing there. But crouching down she can still see the faint swirl of red blood in the rain before it is washed away.

 

"You just had to call us out here in the middle of the night," Allison slams the door to the car, grinning despite herself at her aunt. Her dad doesn't look happy to see Kate. He keeps glancing around as if expecting wolves to leap out of the shadows at any moment.

"Allison! Look at you, beautiful girl!" Kate holds out her arms and Allison can't sidesteps them. She smiles, but the longer she stands there the more she thinks about a burning house with three smoke stained people collapsed outside and the more and more fake it grows.

But she can pretend. She's good at that, after all.

"What happened?" Chris demands. Her dad is impatient, even going as far to grab Kate's gun from her, "And put that away, what if someone sees you?"

"It's the middle of the night and it’s raining," Kate drawls, "Who will be out here in this weather?"

" _Someone_ obviously was," her dad says. His voice is low and he is totally serious, but Kate treats the whole thing like a joke.

"Relax," she laughs, "I definitely shot one. There was another in the road, but it was gone by the time I got out of the car."

That's the other think Allison hates about her aunt. She calls them 'it'.

Walking over to the car she inspects it for damage. Despite what her aunt had said it doesn't look like anything actually hit it. There are no dents, no scratches, and by now Allison should know considering what happened to her last car.

She paces around it, her hair dripping a steady stream of water down her jacket. She sees the problem when she gets around to the front, "It hit your tire!" she calls, "I'm gonna have to replace it!"

Her dad goes to grab a new one from the trunk as Allison leans closer to examine the shredded rubber. There is no claw or nail buried in it which is the first surprise. Running her fingers along the tear she realises that this wasn't even made from a police stinger, it's too clean for that. Like it was cut with a knife. A knife or something else.

Something she's only seen once before.

Her dad and Kate are still arguing. Straightening, Allison goes to grab the new tire herself before they notice what she has. She rubs the soil clinging to her fingers on her jeans, the sharp smell of ozone and burnt rubber still lingering in her nose.

 

The bullet stings.

Peter thinks that Kate Argent is an awful shot. She had missed both the figure who had destroyed her tires and tried to destroy her, along with a large, furry and red-eyed wolf who had raced after the figure with a howl.

He hadn’t even been doing anything. It wasn't a crime to follow the strange alpha in town around, especially when said alpha's banshee friend kept discovering dead bodies.

He had even dodged, but that hadn't stopped the bullet lodging in his arm. It was a nuisance, but an hour later he realised it was worse than that. The bullet was burning his arm.

Pressing his hand to his shoulder it came away black. The wound was smoking blue in the muscle and Peter closed his eyes, recognising the symptoms and cursing his luck.

Kate Argent might be an awful shot, but retrospectively in the dark and when Peter was moving at high speeds, she wasn't bad. He'd give her that.

He paused to catch his breath against a wall, breathing heavily. He can already feel the burning begin to spread, millimetre by millimetres through the blood stream. He'll die, he realises, when the poison in the bullet reaches his heart he will die.

Peter likes to be an independent party, to deal with everything himself. He can't trust other people, can't even quite tell if they know what they're doing or will do it right.

But there are times like now when it pays to have somebody around to help him.

He needs help.

He needs Derek.

 

"Do you think there are going to be more murders?" Paige asks Derek between classes. She grabs a few books she needs from her locker and he lingers, watching her. The words barely register until she turns to him.

"Huh?" he blinks, "What? Oh, yeah, my mom thinks so."

"You were staring again," she accuses him, but her tone is gentle, and there is a slight flush to her skin.

Derek ducks his head, feeling nervous despite how well they know each other now, "Yeah, well I like watching you."

"Mmm, do you?" she leans closer, and he feels his lips curl into a languid grin as she leans forwards to kiss him. "Well enjoy watching me walk away. I have AP Maths. I'll see you at lunch."

His eyes fly open in disappointment as with a brush of air she spins neatly around and vanishes among the throng of people in the corridor. He sighs, feeling a dopey smile alight on his face as he begins walking, not one hundred percent sure where he's even heading.

He doesn't see the hand that snatches out until it clasps into his shoulder, tugging him sideways into the school locker room. He lets out a yelp he is not proud out, feeling the claws sinking into his shoulder through his t-shirt, and spinning around with the hint of a snarl--

"Peter!" he relaxes, staring frostily at his uncle, "I thought we've had this conversation about you wandering around the school. The school board will find out you're being creepy and ban you, whether mom's on the school board or not."

"Nobody will ban me," Peter sneers, "I'm far too good looking for that."

"Well you're not looking so good _now_ , are you?!" Derek retorts, and then takes another look at the werewolf in front of him. Peter really doesn't look too great. He's pale, skin clammy and sweat beading on his forehead in little droplets. His eyes are bloodshot and he's clutching his shoulder so tightly Derek is surprised he can't smell the iron as the skin bruises.

He can't smell blood. What he can smell is a sickly, acidic sweet smell - he's smelt it before, and he can't think of where for a moment until it hits him. The burnt house in the woods. Scott's old house. The house choking on ash and ruin and--

"Wolfsbane," he says, "Why do you smell like wolfsbane?"

"I got shot," Peter lifts up his hand and Derek winces at the small neat hole in Peter's shoulder. People shouldn't have holes in their shoulders, not round and black and bloodied. The skin around is black with the healing process trying - and failing - to cure it. There is a blue tinge to the veins.

"How did you get shot?"

"Wolfsbane bullet. Last night. Or this morning." His uncle shakes his head, heart beat racing, "Argent shot me."

"Argent… Allison shot you? But she… Scott said she was okay."

"Not Allison. Kate. Kate Argent arrived in town. I… I was following Scott, who was following a trail he had picked up. That's why he didn't notice me but Argent… she did. She shot me."

"What do we do? Have you told Mom?"

"We're not telling Talia!"

Derek glares at his uncle, really hating the older man's insistence to never tell their alpha about anything. Sneaking around behind his Mom's back never gets them anywhere, not really although Peter seems convinced that he needs to. He debates the merits of just phoning Mom right now. Peter can't exactly stop him, not the way he is barely standing and looking like he's about to puke any moment.

"Laura then," he tries to reason.

Peter barks out a laugh, "You want to tell Laura?"

"I don't know how to fix this!"

"Wolfsbane bullet," Peter says, "One of the same types that shot me. Like using a snake's venom as an anti-venom… I need the same type of wolfsbane mix to flush my system of this."

Derek scoffs, "In case you haven't realised, I'm not a hunter and I don't carry rare wolfsbane bullets around on me!"

"So get one," Peter grits out and ah - Derek suddenly realises why his uncle hadn't gone to anybody else. Talia wouldn't have risked going near the hunters. Laura would have told Talia. But Derek… Derek is just understanding enough to let himself be persuaded to go and get one for his uncle. That avoids Talia finding out Peter was stalking hunters, that Peter was stalking Scott and talking about Scott…

Derek has enough self-preservation instincts that he's not going to just walk up to an Argent and ask for a bullet. But he thinks he might know someone who can.

 

Peter drifts in and out. He's pretty coherent for the most part but somewhere between the drive over and the initial worry of the fact he's letting his fifteen year old nephew drive his car and being dumped down on a cold, hard floor he loses track of things.

Groaning he pushes himself up, "What are we doing here?" he looks around in disgust, "You idiot - I said I needed wolfsbane bullets, not the weed that is growing all over the burnt house in the woods."

"I'm going to talk to Scott," Derek says, "He can help - he knows Allison and probably maybe won't tell Mom."

"He doesn't _live here_ ," Peter drawls, eyes flitting around the place.

"I know that!" Derek snaps, getting flustered, "I just… I needed somewhere to take you. I wasn't going to leave you in the car looking like I've murdered you and need somewhere to hide the body. I also can't take you home."

"I do have an apartment you know."

"I don't know where it is! I've never been there!"

Peter has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Derek is looking more and more huffy by the second and Peter needs his nephew to help. It took long enough to persuade him as it was and if it takes too long he might be losing an arm at this rate.

He imagines trying to explain that to Talia.

"Don't go anywhere," Derek says, as if he was planning on running off while his nephew went looking for help, "I'm going to go find Scott."

Then he's gone, presumably to go and find the puppy-dog-eyed alpha. Peter slumps back, his throat itching with the scent of wolfsbane in the air and his arm on fire. His eyes drift closed and his breathing evens out. He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep. He knows he won't be able to and that he'll be waiting here for Derek to return. Every second feels like an hour and at the first noise nearby his eyes are flying open.

It's a leaf, dropping to the ground by the window. Peter grits his teeth. He's freezing, shivering and shaking and--

It's a flicker. A brilliant flare of light in the corner of his eyes and his head turns, feeling sluggish and slow and--

Peter watches as a spark of flame catches light near the door. He can smell the kerosene, sharp and bitter in the air. The fumes are intoxicating, and the flames eat it up, growing and reaching with long fingers towards him.

The house is burning. Oh god the house is burning and Peter's trapped. He's trapped inside. He tries to push himself up but falls back, unable to stand. He lets out a snarl, a pure animalistic thing as he gives way to his more primal instincts. The fire is creeping closer, flaring up and he can't do anything, he can't run, he just lies there and waits for it to burn him.

It doesn't. In a violent, mind-wrenching shudder the world rights itself. Peter gasps for breath, scrubbing at his arm where the flames had been licking. There's nothing. His skin is cold, perspiration forming in little beads.

The house isn't on fire. He can't smell kerosene.

Peter chokes. He's hallucinating. He's going to die half out of his mind from the monsters crawling out of his head.

Something moves outside. It's magnified ten times in his ears. Peter grits his teeth, clenching his eyes closed and trying to pretend that he's somewhere else.

Derek will come. Peter has to believe that much at least. His nephew has always been sickeningly loyal.

A shadow looms on the wall and Peter tries not to look.

It's not real after all.

This is going to be a long wait.

 

Voices drift in and over his head. He waits, the world spinning in and out of focus as images and nightmares dance around his head.

"My aunt shot him. I… I tracked him down, I'm not going to kill him, I'm just trying to help."

Kate Argent draws a gun and pulls the trigger. She's beautiful and deadly and she laughs as she does so, blonde hair streaming out behind her and illuminated by the flames of the burning house. She crouches down next to him, fingers reaching for his wound and pulling the bullet out, just so she can shove it back in like a brand of white-hot iron.

"I should have known it would be you."

Kate shimmers, becoming Scott with gleaming red eyes and too many fangs. His face is splattered with blood and his claws are out, thick with red viscous liquid.

"Say _something_! Don't just look at me like that! I'm sorry. I didn't know. It wasn't my fault, okay! It wasn't! I know you all blame me, but I didn't light the match."

"No, maybe not. But you gave it to the woman who did, and gave her the means to light it too."

"I won't tell the others. Scott will find out sooner or later but you're running out of time. How many more people need to die before you're satisfied?"

"Well that depends, doesn't it? How many more were involved? You hunt monsters, Allison, but have you ever looked at what that makes you? Be careful. ' _Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.'_ "

"So what does that make you?"

There's silence and through the haze in his head Peter blinks his eyes open, trying to focus on the two dark shapes. One is crouched in front of him, and Peter can't make out his features. They are twisted, wrong somehow. Behind is another shape, and neither are looking at him, both gazing at each other.

"I am what I needed to become."

"I'd have helped. If you'd asked."

A laugh. Bitter. Deadly, "I woke up alone in the dark. In the shadows. I woke up and six years had passed and my pack was gone. I was alone. Have you any idea what that's like?"

"No."

"If you stay out of my way you won't get hurt. We both know where this is going."

"Please. Don't."

"Are you worried about me killing people, or me killing your aunt?"

"How will this _end_ , Stiles?"

"You already know how this will end."

 

"Peter!"

He wakes to someone shaking his shoulder. A sharp pain shoots through him and he winces between clenched teeth.

"Peter?"

Derek hovers into view and Peter blinks, mind fuzzy. Derek hadn't been there a minute ago. He could have sworn there had been two other people, but now it is only Derek with Scott looming behind him. "Hey," the alpha says, "How are you doing?"

"You… got the bullet?" Peter frowns, trying to remember what happened. He doesn't like it. Its disorientating and he's scrabbling for something real, something solid… "Allison?"

"She was here," Scott smiles slightly, "She was already tracking you down, and so she burnt out the poison. She's gone now - she didn't think it was a good idea to hang around."

So that was real. Peter frowns, "Was anyone else here?"

He can't smell anything, but any scents get swallowed up by the wolfsbane growing everywhere. Scott frowns, shaking his head. Derek just slumps back, looking relieved, "You were hallucinating," his nephew says, "It's lucky Allison got to you when she did, otherwise you would have lost your arm!" He sounds awed, like it’s the coolest thing he's ever seen. Peter growls low in his throat and sits up. He's got a killer migraine, but is otherwise alive, all limbs intact.

And now he owes a hunter. Peter wrinkles his nose. He doesn't like being in debt.

"I won't tell Talia." Scott steps into view suddenly, offering him a hand up. Peter doesn't take it, "Just promise me," Scott suddenly looks deadly serious, "Stop looking into these murders."

He almost wants to. It will be safer, surely, but there's opportunity somewhere here that Peter is still trying to find. Still trying to grasp.

There's something he's missing, a piece he's overlooking.

Peter just hasn't worked out what it is yet.

 

There's another murder on Thursday. There are rumours the FBI is being called in. The owner of a store specialising in exotic herbs is found with pieces of a mirror pinning  her to the door of her store. There is an arrow sticking out of her throat.

Peter watches from afar while Scott sniffs around and the hunters huddle together talking. True to his word, he doesn't investigate.

 

It still bothers him.

He knows Allison was there. He remembers her being there, talking about her aunt…

But he was unconscious. Barely there, and definitely not the one listening to her apologies. Which means somebody else was there, someone she was talking to… but who?

He stands in the empty, burnt out shell of a building. There is a patch of black blood from his bullet wound staining a patch on the floor. He runs his fingers over it, then down. There are drips from something, and pressing his finger to it he realises it is melted wolfsbane. It stings his skin and he hurried to wipe the substance off. There is something else, barely there but--

Peter pauses, scenting the air. There is the faint tang of ozone, still present in the dust strewn air.

That's when he smells the smoke. In the distance something is burning.

Standing on the porch of the Hale House, he can smell it more clearly. Loping off the creaking boards and through the forest, Peter goes against all his instincts and moves towards it.

He pushes through the trees, leaves scratching at his face as he spots the source of the smell.

A body lies on the ground, charred, burnt beyond recognition. A warm, blood red heart lies in the dirt on top of it.

It's beautiful, he thinks, stepping forwards to admire the brutality of the murder and that's when he realises he's not alone.

The killer hasn't left yet.

There's someone screaming. A shadow stands over them, but the figure pauses, head cocking to one side and--

Peter freezes, heart racing and wondering if it's too late to run but this is it, this is the killer, the one in the woods, the one everyone's looking for--

The shadow turns, smile a slash in the darkness. He should have run. Peter should have run.

"You must be Peter."

 

He rips the first guy apart.

It's easy. It's so, so easy. His sinks his hand into the boys chest like he's made of butter, his fingers curling in a mockery of claws and ripping through the flesh, burying forwards under the skin, past the ribs and muscle and reaching upwards…

The guy - he doesn't know whether this one is Unger or Reddick but he doesn't really care. The arsonist chokes as his fingers find the beating pulsing muscle of the heart beneath his fingers.

He rips it out. It's a bloody prize, and far too gory but it pulses with life in his hand. He can feel the echoing response in humming beneath his skin, beneath his feet as the earth realigns, the powers reaching out and over and through and his skin _burns_ \--

Before the body can drop he reaches forwards, fitting his hand neatly around the throat. The flesh beneath his hand smoulders beginning slowly but surely to turn to ash. If the guy wasn't dead before, then he certainly is by the time he is dropped to the ground. Beneath his flesh fire flares with orange and red flashes, even while the outside fades to grey, peeling and flaking and drifting off in the wind as it disintegrates, burning from the inside.

He knows what that's like and he has no pity. Once, maybe but not now. No more. He can't afford it.

He drops the now-still heart in the dust of the body. The other guy is still screaming, trying to claw himself backwards but to no avail. Both his legs are shattered, the bone cruelly digging into the flesh with every movement. The next kill on his list is sobbing, falling backwards down against the damp earth.

The rain in the air is refreshing against his skin. He breathes it in, stepping forwards towards the second arsonist.

The guy is begging. Pleading, but he doesn't listen. He rests his boot on one leg, and shifts his weight down, listening to the guy's agonised screams as his movement forces the shattered bones to grind together. He enjoys the sounds, letting them wash over him.

Something twinges, pulsing along the currents that wrap around and through him. His head snaps up, scanning the woods.

Behind him.

He turns slowly, spotting the figure standing next to the first body. He's not a teenager, but he's not an adult. A wolf - he recognises the figure with dark, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes that flash gold in the darkness.

A Hale.

Well…

"You must be Peter."

 

Peter steps backwards, as if to run, but he gets no further. His gaze drops to the guy still screaming beneath a booted foot, crushing the bones in his leg. With a sigh the figure rocks back, lifting up his leg and turning away. As he does so there is something - a flash, a flare and the sudden sharp smell of ozone… The screams that had stopped as soon as the figure moved start again as the flames burst into life around the guy.

"I thought druids were meant to be peaceful," Peter takes another step back, choking on his words. If he plays this wrong, he's probably dead. It wouldn't be hard to burn him like the arsonist, rip him into shreds, and choke him with wolfsbane…

"To keep the balance," the man says, stepping towards him. The firelight flickers in harsh relief on his face, lighting up the scarred, burnt flesh along the one half of his face, "Wouldn't you say killing those responsible for the deaths of my pack isn't keeping the balance? They killed my pack. I kill them." His voice is matter-of-fact. There isn't even a question in it, just a statement.

And Peter stares. At the druid. The Emissary. The human who should be in a coma.

"Stiles," he says, "You're Scott's emissary."

"Spoken to Scott, have you?" Stiles asks, lips curling and for a moment he looks more like a wolf than Scott ever has, "Wondered when he'd turn up."

"Lydia's here too."

"Is she?" Stiles sounds interested in that, taking another careful step forwards. Peter takes another one backwards. "She has a… _knack_ … for finding bodies."

"What about me?" Peter blusters, moving back another step, "What are you going to do about me?"

"What am I supposed to do about you?" Stiles asks, rhetorically, sidestepping around the ashes but still moving forwards, "Are you going to tell anyone?"

"Am I… _no_ … Talia would never believe… and they all think you're in a coma and…"

"Then good. They don't need to know. Not yet. Not… quite… yet..." Stiles looks like he's considering him, taking another step. Peter moves backwards and finds he can't, his back hitting a tree. His hands scramble at the bark and he has to look up to continue to meet the other man's gaze. Stiles is taller than him by about an inch, but looking up exposes his throat, making him feel vulnerable. He's the wolf, but the emissary is the predator.

Stiles stops in front of him and Peter can't run. Not with the tree behind him and the emissary in front of him. The emissary juiced up on _something_ for all the power he has at his fingertips.  "What are you going to do?"

"That depends," Stiles hums, reaching out. Peter can't help but flinch, but all the emissary does rest his palm on the tree the one side of Peter's head, caging him in, "Mostly on you, a little bit on me, last part on how quickly Lydia is in finding these bodies."

"I didn't think you'd advocate killing," Peter blurts out, "The files said you were going into criminology - don't you believe in the law?"

"You sound like my dad," Stiles says, his voice almost fond, "He would have wanted me to do the lawful thing. Arrest them. Find _evidence_ and _proof_ …" his tone grows darker, more matter-of-fact, "I suppose its lucky then, that my dad is dead and he doesn't have to see this."

So this, Peter realises, this is how he's going to die. He closes his eyes.

Nothing happens.

Against his better judgement he opens them, finding the emissary staring at him almost considering. "Have you ever played chess, Peter?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding.

Stiles' lips twitch but he doesn't smile, his face is too blank for that, "You see the thing in chess is that you need to see the whole board. All the players, the pawn, the queen, the king, you need to see them all and understand how they fit together. How one can affect the other, how one move you make could have disastrous consequences later on if the pieces are in the wrong place... I didn't actually play," he admits, "My dad did but I… I didn't have the patience. I still picked up some techniques; I know how to manipulate events… people… I could have made the murders quiet. They would have barely made the news."

"But you didn't," Peter points out, "the bus driver was fucking crucified…" he stops, replaying the scene. Stiles glances towards him, one eyebrow quirking upwards.

"You liked that?" he asks with a grin, "I thought it was appropriate."

"Kate," Peter breathes, the pieces clicking into place in his head, "You lured Kate Argent back here."

"And she came running," Stiles is exuberant, "Lydia came because of the deer. Scott came because of Lydia. Allison came because of Scott. And Kate followed. She knows I'm coming, and she will _burn_ for what she did."

A thrill runs through his veins at watching Stiles. He's human, but when he talks about killing Kate… there is a certain grace, a feral predator beneath his skin when he moves. There is a shadow in his eyes and the electric spark of power beneath his skin.

He's human, but there is power there. Power in the deaths, power in whatever it is that kept a mere human alive despite the third degree burns marring his body… fourth even in some places... There is _power_ and Peter…

Peter has always been attracted to power.

"What is it you want?" he asks, finally. "Surely it wasn't to give me a lesson on chess?"

"I thought you were smarter than that," Stiles laughs. It's not a nice laugh. "Scott and Talia are running around and not communicating. The Argents pulled into town last week and I… I'm watching the pieces all fall into place. The only one that I don't know what I'm doing with… is you..." he steps forwards, cupping Peter's cheek for a moment, and then letting his hand trail down Peter's jaw until the emissary's hand fits neatly around Peter's neck loosely. His pulse beats erratically, and that's not the only reason Stiles' hand rests there.

He can feel Peter's heart, beating through his skin.

"Are you going to kill me?" He should be more scared. Definitely terrified, but he knows he's safe. He's interesting to the emissary; he's a still a piece that has value…

"Kill you? Do I need to?" Stiles' head tilts to one side, questioningly, "No, I'm here to see if you want to play on my side of the board."

"What do I get out of it?"

"I think that all depends on what. you. _want_."

 

Lydia wraps her arms around herself, watching the police tape off the crime scene.

Scott holds out his arms and she falls into them, pressing her face to his chest, "They're also connected, aren't they?" she whispers.

His silence is answer enough.

"Is it wrong… that I don't feel sorry for them?"

"No," Scott steps back, holding her at arm’s length so he can look at her, "No, I don't think it’s wrong."

Neither of them know where to look. Either someone is killing people out of a sick sense of pleasure, and chose the connection of the fire that destroyed their pack just for fun, or there's something else. Someone else. Someone they _know_ , someone with the motivation…

With the means…

"I'm going to talk to Deaton," Scott says to her, "The way the one guy was burnt… it could be magical and I just want to see what our options are."

"Magical?" Lydia tilts her head to one side, "I thought the Nemeton was cut down, after we left."

"The murders might reawaken it, if someone with enough power does it right. After that deer I… I don't want to chance it."

Lydia nods, her gaze sliding over Scott's shoulder to where Allison is lurking. If Allison is already here then that means--

"Scott McCall."

Both of them stiffen and Scott turns, slowly. Behind him Kate stands, smirking as she eyes the pair, "Well didn't you grow into a fine young man?"

Lydia can see Allison moving forwards, but not quickly enough. Scott's hands curl into fists, hiding the way his claws dig into his palms. "Kate," he says, voice measured, "What brings you back to Beacon Hills?"

"The same thing I imagine brought you back."

"The retail price?" Lydia snaps out, "I didn't know you bought property. I thought you were more familiar with _burning it down._ "

Kate's gaze grows icy, focusing in on Lydia. She smiles, still pleasant and nice on the outside but on the inside… "Oh, I actually came to clear up a few messes. I do hate to leave a job unfinished. I thought it was about time I came to get rid of the pieces floating in the wind, lying broken in hospital beds…"

Scott snarls, moving forwards and Lydia holds him back.

"Is there a problem here?" Parrish steps in the middle of the pair, frowning at Scott and Lydia before turning to Kate.

"No," Scott says, stepping back with difficulty, "We were just leaving. Kate." He says her name like a threat and a promise and she just smirks after him.

"See you soon, Scott."

 

"I thought I'd find you here."

He doesn't know why he's back. He's already got away once, there's no guarantee the psychotic emissary will let him walk away a second time.

Stiles doesn't look surprised to see him there, just grins. His smile is all teeth, "Back for more?" he asks, eyes gleaming in the setting sun, "Why, Peter, and here I thought you had a sense of self-preservation." Peter doesn't answer and Stiles just turns back to something in front of him, "Guess you're more of an equal opportunist."

"You were there that other day. You and Allison. You healed my bullet wound - why?"

Stiles shrugs, "I wasn't going to let you die. That would mean the hunters were winning and that… we can't have that, can we?"

"How did you do that?" Peter asks, "I thought you needed a bullet."

"You do. Allison helped."

Peter frowns, wondering why the pair hadn't murdered each other. He doesn't really remember the conversation, but he knows it wasn't nice. It was anything but nice.

There's something different about Stiles. It takes him longer than it should to realise the burns covering his face have receded. They’re not open or raw like they might have been after the fire - instead the skin is twisted, as if it has melted in place. It curls Stiles’ mouth in an upwards quirk, giving his smile a cruel edge. Peter reaches out, touching the skin. It shimmers beneath his hand and even though it looks healed, it doesn't feel that way.

Stiles flinches away, "It’s just a glamour," he says , "An illusion. They're still there. Hopefully they won't be for long."

"I like them," Peter's fingers trail along the side of Stiles' face. For a moment he relies on seeing by touch, fingers trailing over each bump, each slight imperfection of scar tissue beneath his fingers.

"You know," Stiles hums, "For a kid, you're really creepy sometimes."

"I'm twenty-four," Peter purrs, "Totally legal, if that's what you're worried about. Also, practically the same age as you."

"Practically," Stiles sounds amused.

"You said…" Peter backtracks, "You said you could heal your scars. How?"

"How else do you think I managed to do the things I do? Druids… they're not inherently magical. It's a religion, a belief. I didn't even practise it, Scott just needed someone to be there and I was always that someone. So I learned." He glances over his shoulder at what lies behind him. It's how Peter knew where to come, straight to the location of the first murder.

Well… not really murder. It was just a deer after all. And it's just a tree trunk.

Except… he pauses, stiffening. It's not. There is a humming in the air around him, barely contained in the wood in front of them.

"She used to be whole," the emissary explains. His voice is sad, "Whole and tall and beautiful. I found her in the woods, fully grown and so, _so_ old. Everybody had forgotten she was here."

"She?"

"She's a Nemeton. A place sacred amongst the druids. They used to make sacrifices to it, in exchange for power."

And Peter blinks and he can still see the deer's blood, staining the oak trunk, "Oh," he realises, "You sacrificed the deer for power."

"Yes," Stiles hums, fingers curling around Peter's arm, tugging him forwards, "Before the fire I had begun to research the Nemeton. I had only began to understand its full power when the fire happened. Six years. It's a long time. Most people would have died. But I'm not most people. I had her. She kept me alive," he sounds awed. Grateful. "And then, miraculously, against all odds and doctor's prognosis', I began to heal."

"So you sacrificed that deer," Peter realises, "Did it give you power?"

"Enough," Stiles shrugs, "I suppose I could have gone the full deal, found a couple of virgins, some warriors, but I… I didn't have time. Once the murders started I knew Lydia would come back to town. She'd bring Scott, and the hunters would follow eventually. The deer was just a start. Myers, the other ones… they weren't just for revenge. Each one gives a little bit more life back to the tree. Back to me."

"So…" Peter finds he is smiling, "Who are you going to kill tonight?"

"That…" Stiles smirks, "Is where you come in."

 

"Oh god," Allison turns away, probably to be sick. Even Scott feels his stomach heave but he forces himself to look and take in the detail before the police arrive.

There's not much to see. The body has been ripped into shreds. He can see the claw marks along with the faint scent in the air of lightning. Magic, he realises now. There's someone using magic.

But that doesn't explain the claw marks. That doesn't explain the way the body is shredded, except for the face which gazes peaceably up towards the waxing moon.

"Can we go?" Allison asks. He looks to the huntress next to him, but she is staring obstinately at the ground, not meeting his gaze. He wants to kiss her, to sweep her up in his arms, press her close but they--

There is a rift between them. It started with the fire, and over time they've made bridges but the rift just keeps growing further and further apart. Maybe they're not meant to be, Scott reasons, but it doesn't mean they can't work together. It doesn't mean they can't find out who did this.

"Hang on…" he snaps some pictures, stepping around for a better shot where he doesn't cast a shadow over the body. The moonlight illuminates the woman's face and he pauses, frowning, "Does she look familiar to you?" he asks.

Allison glances at the dead woman for half a second and then looks away, "She's a nurse," her tone is dull, "Maybe she worked at the hospital. You probably saw her when you went to see your mom. Now can we go?"

Scott crouches down, frowning at the woman’s face. He _knows_ this nurse, he knows he does. He pokes cautiously at her pocket, sliding out a nametag.

"Scott!"

"One moment, she's got a tag - Jennifer," he reads it, and the name snaps into place. The name and the smell in the air, the lightning that always smelt like something had been overcooked and--

It's familiar. He knows it. Beneath the blood and the wind and the lightning there is something else. Something unmistakable, clinging to the body.

"She wasn't just any nurse," he says, looking up at Allison who doesn't get it, can't see… "She was _Stiles_ _'_ nurse."

 

He rushes through the corridors that are all too familiar, sliding past open doors and nurses and--

"Scott! Wait up!" Allison runs after him, not slowing down as she tries to keep up with him, "Scott!"

"He could be in danger!" Scott says, "Whoever is killing people could be coming after him! They could be--"

He rounds the corner, spots a familiar door and is there, pushing it open and--

It's empty.

"He's gone," Scott breathes, "They took him.." He whirls around to race out again but Allison is there, stepping forwards into his space so he has to step back and she closes the door and-- "Allison?" he asks, "Why do you look like that?"

"I'm sorry," she says, her face blank and eyes sorrowful,  "I'm so, so sorry, but Stiles isn't in danger."

"What do you mean?" he asks, because his friend is gone, the bed is empty and he's not even awake, he's as good as dead in that goddamn coma.

"Think, Scott," Allison says, "All the murders are connected to the fire. They're not going after you; they're going after the people who did this!"

He shakes his head, "No," he won't believe it, can't…

"I'm sorry, it's true, I saw him…"

"Stiles?" It feels like all the air has been punched out of his lungs. He lost his asthma when he was bitten, but now he feels like it's hitting him again, "No, he wouldn't…" he stops, because Stiles totally would. "You knew?" he asks Allison.

She doesn't say anything, lips pressed together because of course, she isn't the person he thinks she is. She's a hunter. And she's playing a different game from them.

"Stiles is… he's… he's killing people." Saying it doesn't make it any better. He looks around the room, breathing in the familiar scent of his best friend. There's a tinge to it, and he can't believe he didn't notice it the other day when he was here. The scent of blood and ozone crackles in the air under the thick hospital smells. Stiles is killing people, but that also means he's awake. He's awake and alive and the joy of that is offset by the horror and sadness. "We need to find him," he says, "Before someone else dies."

"So where would he go next?" Allison asks, "Think, Scott… you know him best of all…"

"Uh, I don't know! The… the… the people involved in the fire. The arsonists. The insurance investigator. The cop. The herbalist. That covers the fire, the cover up and the mountain ash… you, maybe?"

Allison blanches, "If he wanted me dead he would have killed me when I found him and an unconscious beta werewolf in your old house!" she hisses, "He'd go after my aunt if anybody but I don't… I don't think she's his target. Not yet."

"The fire," Scott says, "The fire…"

The huntress doesn't get it, "I don't know how to create magical fires," she spits.

"It wasn't magical," Scott shakes his head, "It was chemical. Would Kate have known which chemicals to use?"

"No, she failed chemistry."

"Then she would have had to ask someone." Scott realises, "Someone who knows about chemistry. A lot about chemistry."

"Oh my… does he still…"

"Yeah."

 

Chemistry, she thinks, is the most amazing subject ever.

If only it wasn't so boring at school. But it's okay - she knows the best bits of it. Namely the explosion, the bangs, the pretty lights…

The burning…

Last time she hired people to do it. This time she does it herself. At least that way she'll know that the job gets done.

 

Lydia wakes up at the school.

Or maybe wakes up is the wrong expression. Wakes up implies she was sleeping before, but she wasn't, because she hadn't slept walked here. She'd been in her car driving, but her destination was the other side of town.

Lydia comes back to herself at the school. It is dark at this time of night and full of shadows. She remembers when she used to think it was the scariest place, not least because of the various creatures that just seemed to waltz in at any time of day.

It's not so scary now. It seems smaller, less intimidating and she knows the corridors off by heart. Walking through them she doesn't stop, doesn’t falter, even though she knows what she's going to find.

But there's an urge buried in her breast, something bubbling up and this is different. Normally she just finds the bodies but now…

She wants to scream. The scream is a warning, a prediction. It means it hasn't happened yet.

It means that just this once, she's got here in time.

Her phone is buzzing in her hands, and she answers it, "Scott," she says before he can say anything, "There's going to be another death."

"We know! You need to get to the school! To the chemistry classroom! We're on our way there!"

Lydia looks up at the sign in front of her, "It's okay," she tells the alpha over the phone, "I'm already there."

Scott's screaming over the phone, but she doesn't hear him. Or maybe she does, because when she pushes open the door and steps forwards she's not as surprised as she should be to find Stiles standing there at the front of the classroom like he's about to start teaching.

It’s not a shock. She’d known, she’d always known, she thinks, gaze sweeping over her friend. His left side is facing her and he looks almost normal. Unhurt, as if the fire was nothing but a bad memory. His one hand is curled into a fist while his other is holding Adrian Harris by the throat to the wall, the teacher's eyes closed, but his pulse still beating.

Stiles glances up at her, grinning languidly at her, "Lydia Martin," he greets her, not moving. "Light of my life."

"Don't," she says. It's all she needs to say. He tilts his head to one side, examining her.

"Why not?"

And she doesn't have a good answer for him. That's why it's good timing on the true alpha's part when he comes skidding in, Allison only steps behind him.

Now Stiles moves, but it's only to lift the teacher and then throw him back against the board. His head cracks against it but he's not dead, his pulse still flutters. He slides down the wall and Stiles? Stiles doesn't even look at him, just turns to face the three of them.

"Stiles?" the name is torn from Scott's throat like an open wound, ripped out of him.

The man glances over at them. His eyes are dark, but for a single moment before he turns it looks like he's normal. Like he's okay. Then he twists around and Lydia can see the other half of his face.

"Scott." Stiles' voice is flat. Dead. Amusement curls in the depths of his words, amusement and bitterness, "Been a while." His gaze slides over to Allison, "Allison, I see you two are still playing the star-crossed lovers..." he inclines his head, "And Lydia, wow, it's just like before, the old gang, back together again."

"Stiles," Scott's voice is breathless. The true alpha is putting so many emotions into that one word - that one _name_ \- that it settles in the air, thick and heavy around them. Lydia gasps, a slight and broken thing as she stares at their pack mate, and then drops her gaze. "You're out of the coma."

"I've been out of the coma for weeks," Stiles shrugs. His voice is dead. Empty. "There just wasn't anybody around to notice."

"We checked up on you when we could. But the last we heard was that you weren't to wake up and--"

"You think that's a good enough excuse?" bitterness seeps into the emissary's voice, "You think that makes it okay?"

"Stiles, we--"

"You _left_ me," Stiles interrupts, scorn twisting his expression until beneath the scars and anger Lydia can barely recognise him, "You and Lydia both, you left me rotting in that hospital..."

"Don't do this," Scott says. The alpha _begs_ but Stiles just shakes his head.

"You don't get to tell me what to do. I was your _emissary_ , Scott. I did my fucking job. I protected the pack. I told what you should do and did you listen? No, it was just Allison, Allison, _Allison_ , all the time…"

Scott lets one of his hands drop and Lydia doesn't look, but she knows his claws are out, "I'll stop you," he says, "You can't go around killing people…"

"You can try," Stiles tilts his head, "But you and I both know that you can't."

"The Nemeton," Lydia whispers, "You've been using the Nemeton."

"You always were remarkably clever," Stiles' eyes are almost soft as he glances at her, but then something twists and lights up and his eyes… The brown amber in them disappears, flaring gold…

Except it's not gold. Gold is the colour of a wolf's eyes. This is too bright to be gold. It's gone past gold, the colour draining out until it's white, white ringing around black and Lydia chokes, because this isn't Stiles.

With a snarl Scott moves forwards and Stiles doesn't even look worried. He waits half a second then flings an arm out to the side. Scott goes with it, not touching Stiles but flung by some unseen force across the classroom. "Really, Scott?" Stiles steps after his friend, keeping half an eye on the girls, "Is that really the best you've got?"

As he moves something changes. Something ripples and shimmers and Lydia blinks back tears and--

Allison moves, sliding forwards with ring daggers spinning.

Lydia doesn't remember Stiles ever moving so gracefully. She doesn't even know where he learnt to fight, to spin aside neatly, twisting and knocking Allison straight past him onto the floor, crashing into two desks and a chair. Scott shoves himself up, eyes blazing red and Stiles actually takes a step backwards, "Scott, you're not the person I'm fighting."

"You're not the person I once knew."

"No?" Stiles laughs, bitterly, "Well I guess six years changes a person, huh?" He turns, away from Lydia, and that's when she realises what's different. The scars on his face are gone, washed away by magic and raw, pure power. The burns are no longer visible, swallowed up and faded into clean, unflawed skin. It’s like the fire never happened and Stiles stands there, healed and not burnt and perfect and--

His eyes are still burnt. Lydia can see it in the broken expression and the white glow to the iris. Just because they can no longer see it doesn’t mean they should forget.

Stiles is dangerous.

Behind the emissary, Allison raises her bow, arrow nocked and flying. The emissary isn't fazed, knocking it away with the power that swirls around him like water. It hits the far wall of the classroom, and Lydia screams as Scott howls.

The arrow has stabbed straight through Scott's chest.

It's not fatal. Not for an alpha werewolf. But Allison drops her bow, stepping backwards and Stiles--

He spins around, "Don't try to stop me," he levels with them, "And I won't have to stop you."

He steps towards her and pauses, head tilting to one side unnaturally, "Well?" he asks, "Do I need to deal with you too?"

Lydia steps aside. She's not going to fight him. She can't hope to win and besides.

Some part of her wants them all to burn as well.

"Kill them," she whispers, as he walks past her out of the door, "Kill them all."

The grin he throws over his shoulder at her is so unmistakably Stiles, it's like she's never been away and they're still making molotov cocktails together on a Friday night.

But that was years ago. That time is gone, over and finished and there's an unconscious teacher on the floor of the classroom, Scott's ripping an arrow out of his chest and Allison stands there, meeting Lydia's gaze, and the banshee doesn't know what to do.

Nothing is the right option. Not anymore.

 

There is blood on Peter's hands. It gets everywhere, under his nails, in his hair, staining his skin a dark brown. He can't wash it off, no matter how hard he scrubs. He ditches the clothes. They're not going to be salvageable. He also doesn't want his sister finding out.

There is blood on Peter's hands and he _loves_ it.

Although for future reference, he's going to let other people do the killing. It is so much more satisfying, and a hundred times easier.

His phone rings. It's his sister.

Talia never phones him. Never. He eyes the ringing phone, picking at a bit of rust red under one nail. He waits, gauging how long she will call before giving up.

The call goes to voicemail and then hangs up, annoyingly not leaving a message.

With a sigh Peter grabs the phone from his bed, dialling her back, "Talia," he says when it connects, "How can I help you -- _Stiles_?" he turns around and chokes slightly, trying not to let his fangs and claws out at the sight of the emissary lounging next to his window.

"Window was open," the human says with a shrug and a smile. Over the phone Talia takes a few moments to reply.

"Peter? How did you know it was Stiles? Did you see the news already?"

"News?" He's severely out of the loop here and levelling a glare at a smug emissary, he turns away, "What news?"

"Stilinski is missing from the hospital. Currently they're not telling the public anything, but Scott let me know - he's the one we're looking for - he's the one killing people so if you see him, stay away. He went after Adrian Harris at the school, but Scott got there just in time. They've put him in protective custody."

Peter glances over his shoulder at where said emissary is currently poking pieces of a dusty chessboard sitting on a shelf, "Okay," he says, sharply, "How does a six year coma patient suddenly become a serial killer?"

"He was taught by the druids. He knows how to harness power, how to use it against you. He's also been in a coma these past few years - he's not exactly sane."

"Neither are the Argents," Peter points out logically.

"Just… be careful."

He's almost touched by her concern. Almost. He hangs up on her, discarding his phone on the bed and stalking forwards towards the emissary who rolls his head to look up at Peter through his lashes, "What are you doing here?" he hisses, "Talia _knows_ and everyone is looking for you. Including the police. It's in the news - missing coma patient goes after people complicit in  the McCall family arson case that nobody was prepared to call arson."

"Arson happens to property. This was murder."

"What." Peter deadpans, "Are you doing in my apartment? And not just my apartment, my _bedroom_ …?"

"Well," Stiles smirks, sliding away from the wall and stepping closer to the wolf, "You said you wanted to help."

"This is inappropriate. You're inappropriate," Peter says.

Stiles' laugh is low in the back of his throat, "You're the very definition of sleazy and you think I'm inappropriate?"

"Harris got away," Peter says, "He's in protective custody."

Stiles shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the fact.

"You should have told me!" Peter snarls, shoving Stiles out of his personal space. The emissary follows the shove backwards, unbothered by  it, "I could have helped! I helped you murder your nurse, didn't I?"

"Yes, and you did a beautiful job," Stiles said.

"Why kill your nurse anyway?" Peter scoffs.

"She wasn't a very good nurse. Besides, I didn't kill her, did I?"

Peter glares.

Stiles has the audacity to grin, "Can I see?" he asks.

"You watched me rip her throat out."

"And what wouldn't give to see it again. But that's not what I meant." Stiles steps forwards back into Peter's personal space, "Your eyes," he breathes, "Can I see…?"

Peter barely dares to breathe, "What about my eyes?"

"You mean you haven't heard? When a werewolf kills an innocent, their eyes turn blue."

"She wasn't innocent. You said…"

"True, but it was close enough."

Peter lets his eyes flare. Stiles' face erupts into a grin, " _Beautiful_ ," he says, "You're beautiful."

He doesn't enjoy feeling like the child in this relationship. Angry, he shoves Stiles back, this time stepping forwards and using his momentum to swing Stiles around, so the Emissary's back hits the wall he had been backed up against. Stiles doesn't fight, just lets it happen. He watches in amusement as Peter crowds forwards at him, "Don't play me," Peter snarls, "Don't. You'll regret it."

"I'm sure I will," Stiles says, not sounding scared at all. In fact he sounds slightly breathless. Peter breathes in his scent. He's not scared. Not even remotely. He's _aroused_.

"You find me an alpha," Peter snarls, trying to focus on what is important here, "The deal is my eyes are supposed to turn red, not blue."

"And they will. Oh believe me, they will. I keep my promises," Stiles agrees surprisingly amicably, "I promise the Argents will die. And I promise you'll get your red eyes. What's the matter? Don't you _trust_ me?" Peter doesn't trust him a bit. Not even a little and his eyes must show that because Stiles tuts, leaning in closer until his breath is warm on the werewolf neck, "Oh, _sweetie_ , you don't believe me. Want to kiss on it? Make our deal official?" His nose bumps along Peter's jaw line and its incredibly distracting...

Peter's heard of the deal with the devil. But he's not sure which one of them satisfies that requirement. "You keep up your end, I'll keep up mine," he snaps out, breath low and throat rough and--

"Deal," Stiles whispers, and he presses forwards, hands fisting in Peter's collar and pulling him closer. It's messy and rough and there are teeth and Peter tastes blood and--

Stiles pulls back, his eyes glowing. Not red or blue or gold, but a shimmering molten gun-metal white. It's almost silver, but it’s too pale, too unnatural for that. "I told you," he sounds irritated, "I keep my promises."

"Good," Peter says, and then pulls  Stiles back against his kiss-swollen lips.

 

It's more of a fight than it is sex. Neither is quite prepared to let the other one on top. One's a beta werewolf who wants to be an alpha; the other's a human with too much druid power running through his veins.

Peter doesn't love the emissary, and he's pretty sure the other man doesn't love him. Stiles is too jaded, too broken for that. And Peter's far too narcissist to even consider letting anybody else in. It's not _nice_. Neither of them are _nice_ people. Peter's claw rake down a back that heals and Stiles bites into the meat of his shoulder. His back should be bruised from the amount of his own furniture he got slammed into and tripped over in pressing Stiles back against the walls, the door, before eventually finding where his own bed was.

It's like a sacrifice, a deal, a promise. Talia might be prepared to sit around and watch the hunters raze through her town but Peter… Peter's founds the means and power to stopping them first. And then once the hunters are gone he can find an alpha to kill… an alpha whose power he can steal… Then he never has to rely on Talia again...

Stiles' murders have all been sacrifices. If he follows the fault tree back he would only have one person to blame, but instead the emissary had bided his time, getting stronger, sacrificing the other, less involved individuals to get the main one.

Peter's phone, tangled somewhere in the duvet that now lies crumpled on the floor, rings again.

This time he doesn't answer it.

 

He is woken by a physical knocking. He stirs, stretching out and glancing over to the other side of the bed.

Stiles is gone. He's not surprised.

With a sigh, he grabs for some clothes and makes for the stairs of his apartment. He can hear Derek, pounding on the door, "Uncle Peter! Peter!"

He opens the door and crooks one eyebrow, "Well would you look at that," he says in mock surprise, "You do know where my apartment is."

His nephew blinks wide green eyes at him, "I asked Laura after… after last time…"

"What do you want?" Peter's gaze drifts to where to nobody's surprise, Derek's pretty little girlfriend is standing, smelling of anxiety and nerves just behind him. "It's ridiculously late."

"Mom wouldn't listen," Derek says, earnestly, "She told me to go away and started worry about Grandma and Aunt and all the cousins…"

Of course, Peter thinks, it's the full moon. And it's not just any full moon. It's the second full moon in January -  a blue wolf moon doesn't roll around all that often and when it does, the packs always celebrate.

He hasn't seen the extended Hale family. But then again he hasn't been around the house since last week sometime. The one time he'd been anywhere near was when Talia dropped Malia off with explicit instructions to spend some time with his daughter.

He'd dumped her off with Laura instead.

He doesn't understand why Derek is so worried. Why he's shifting from foot to foot nervously and least of all why's he's on Peter's doorstep. "Just cut to the chase," he snaps at the beta, "What's going on?"

"It's Kate Argent," Derek blurts out, "I think she's planning something."

 

"How do you know?"

"She came to talk with me at school. She _flirted_ with me. Kept asking me all these questions and she… she introduced herself as Kate. Just Kate, not Argent which I thought was weird…"

"We may have followed her. She didn't do anything too strange but then she stopped a few streets away from the Hale house…"

"Mrs Hale said not to worry, she didn't think the hunter would try anything but it was _weird_ …"

"So I asked Laura where you lived and we came over--"

Peter can't get either teenager to shut up on the drive over to their house. But it doesn't matter. He's heard just enough to realise that they're right - there is something going on. He can hear it in their voices, even if he doesn't realise it when he rounds the corner and sees the smoke.

He barely remembers stopping, slamming the handbrake on taking off. The engine is still running and Derek and Paige are scrambling out, but it's only to see the same thing he does.

The house is burning.

The _house_ is _burning_.

He hears screams from inside, and with a cry Derek lunges forwards. He gets almost to the front door when he hits a blue barrier and flies backwards.

Peter stands and stares. He watches history repeats itself, except this time its not the McCall Pack.

It's his. It's the Hales.

"Derek, what is it, what's the matter, why can't you go in?" Paige crouches by her boyfriend and for the first time Peter thinks it might just be a good thing that she's human.

"Break it!" he grabs her by the arm, dragging her up to the house. She tugs her arm out of his grip, staring at him in fear. "Break the line!" he shouts.

"Do it!" Derek says, "Paige, do it!"

She sweeps her hand through the mountain ash and like that Peter's through. He's racing inside.

He's too late. That’s his first thought. He far, far too late. The house is hot, so hot he can feel it searing through him. He blinks smoke from his eyes, trying to see someone he knows, someone he recognises…

He sees a body. Moving over to it, he turns them over--

A cousin. But they're already dead. Not from the fire or the smoke inhalation either, but from the arrow sticking out of her throat.

The flames flare higher and Peter looks up for someone, anyone--

Maybe it's a lost cause.

That's when he hears the coughing, and he ducks through a burning doorway, spotting the dark hair of his sister crouched over her husband’s body.

"Talia!" he calls. She barely appears to hear him, "Talia, come on! We need to go, we need to get out…" he grabs her shoulder, manhandling her towards the door. He doesn't know what happened, but whatever it was it must have been messy. Talia's bleeding as well, and he is almost loathe to touch the black under her veins.

She looks barely alive. More so when they get out into the evening light and Derek rushes forwards with a choked "Mom!"

"Mom!" Peter looks up to see Laura is nearby with Cora. He straightens, heading towards them.

"What happened?" he asks. Laura barely hears him, staring at her mother, "Laura!" he grabs her shoulders, "What happened?"

"I don't, I don't know. It all happened so fast…" she's babbling, not making any sense…

He shakes her, "What happened!?"

"There were hunters!" she shouts, staring desperately at him, "There were hunters and they came out of nowhere! They had poison and arrows and guns and Mom told me to take Cora and run. So we ran. They had the place surrounded; we barely managed to get out…”

"I'm okay," Talia coughs out to Derek behind them, "I'm okay, someone call Scott…"

In the distance there are the wails of a fire engine and police sirens. Peter stares, his heart cold as he gazes at the flames rising higher and higher and--

There is a mewling. It's tiny, he doesn't know why he hears it, but he does. A tiny pitiful mewling, like that of a puppy or--

Or a coyote, he thinks. The hunters might have shot up most of the pack and left the bodies for the fire but they missed the coyote. They missed Malia.

Oh god - Malia is still alive in there.

There is a moment of indecision in which Peter tries to work out whether it will be worth it in the long run to go back in for his daughter or not, and before he comes to a decision Talia had spun around with a snarl and vanished back towards the house.

"MOM!" Cora screams, throwing herself back towards the building burning. Derek hefts her around the middle to hold her back.

(Peter wouldn't have gone. It makes no sense to and he wouldn't have, he's pretty sure but…

But now he'll never know for certain and that irks him…)

"MOM!" Cora screams again, and Peter stares, trying to see through the smoke.

A shape. It's blurred. Indistinct. It looks more animal than human.

Maybe that's because it is. A moment later a wolf materialises through the smoke, limping heavily and carrying a coyote pup in her jaws. She doesn't make it far, and Peter and Laura are already moving forwards towards her. Derek is behind him, wide-eyed and clutching Paige. Laura catches her mother as she shifts, and Peter makes a lunge for the squirming coyote pup before she can make a run for it. In his hands Malia mewls pathetically and bites at his fingers. He ignores her, gazing instead at Talia and where Laura is trying to check her mother's pulse, trying to keep her breathing...

This is his chance.

This is just what Peter has been waiting for - _opportunity_.

He doesn't grasp it.

He sees his moment and he… does nothing. He watches as Talia's eyes blink open once to take in her small family, then close, the red seeping out of them and straight into Laura's.

And just like that his sister is dead. She's gone.

Laura has frozen, her eyes wide.

When she blinks colour floods into her irises. It's not beta gold. Not anymore.

It's alpha red.

 

Scott stares at the house and it’s like he's staring at the pack home, out in the woods six years ago. Except this one is on the outskirts of town, slightly larger.

The deaths are the same. This time the hunters didn't risk leaving any alive. Only Cora and Laura made it out. Malia still won't shift back. She's a whining coyote that her own father doesn't know what to do with and Scott's got too much heart to flash his alpha eyes and force her back into a human body.

Allison stands next to him, watching the suddenly broken family in the light of the flashing police lights. "It happened again," she says.

He doesn't even look at her. It doesn't matter if she knew about this or not, she's on their side. She's a hunter, he'd been deluding herself into thinking she was his friend. "What happens if a hunter breaks the code?" he asks.

Allison doesn't answer. When he turns to look at her she's already slipped away.

 

"Where were you?!"

Peter slams Stiles back against the wall of his bedroom. Stiles seems to spend more time there than he does anywhere else, but this time he isn't getting anything out of Peter. The emissary just laughs, head angled back to see Peter properly. The werewolf snarls, "Where the fuck were you?"

"You know," Stiles hums, critically, "I thought you were a sociopath. I guess I was wrong."

"They burnt," Peter spits out, "Every one of them - _even the humans_ \- shot with wolfsbane and burnt. I should have been there. If I hadn't been sneaking around I would have been there and--" Thank god he wasn't, he thinks, but there can't be a god. No God would be that cruel.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" the emissary comments, tone still and with so much hidden emotion…

Peter almost rips his throat out. He stops only in the knowledge that he wouldn't win that fight. Not now. Stiles is dangerous. Deadly. Maybe when the emissary finally holds up his end of the bargain and helps him gain the alpha power then… then he'll kill the man. Or keep him. He'll need an emissary as an alpha after all, maybe Stiles could be persuaded to help.

"I want Kate Argent to burn," he spits out, meeting Stiles' gaze.

"Get in line," Stiles says, eyes flaring white. Peter likes the possessive streak the other male has in regards to his prey, but Peter curls his lip. He won't wait. He doesn't want to.

"I'll rip her apart," he promises, "Whether you help me or not."

Stiles shoves him away, snarling slightly and even though he's not a wolf, it's still a vicious, rabid action. Peter is reminded that Stiles isn't exactly sane anymore, "Don't do anything rash," he sneers, "I have a plan. This is my game, not yours."

"Then how about you stop playing around?" the wolf sneers, "Kate's in town. What are you waiting for?"

Stiles laughs, lips pressed together and curling in a thin, dark smile that twists his expression into something dangerous. He's looking at Peter in a way that were he anybody else, he'd feel uncomfortable under the intensity of the other man's gaze.

"Stiles?" he asks, frowning, "What are you waiting for?"

"I said I have a plan," Stiles shrugs, "A play, if you will. But in chess you need to sacrifice some pawns."

"What." Peter stares, heart thudding in his chest, eyes darting to any escape routes then back to where the emissary is standing.

"Don't you understand? I thought you were meant to be the smart one," Stiles' eyes burn white and they're all he can see. "I was waiting for you, Peter."

 

The young wolf might try to kill him later. It's going to fun to see him try, Stiles thinks.

He _likes_ Peter. His morals are all in the wrong place and he makes the most beautiful sounds in bed. He's not a pawn either, no matter what Stiles says. He's playing on the other side of the chessboard, and Stiles has just slid him into checkmate.

It's necessary, he tells himself. He doesn't regret it, but then he doesn't regret much of anything anymore.

So he watches. And he waits.

Allison drops down beside him where he crouches in the trees, "It's done," she says, not looking at him.

"You sure about this?" he asks. He can do this without her. Has been doing it without her but Allison…

"She broke the code," Allison says, "She has to pay the price."

Somewhere a blue-eyed werewolf is chained to a metal grating in the ruins of their old pack house. Somewhere electricity runs through him and Kate Argent laughs, turning up the dial higher.

Oh Peter will definitely try to murder him. If he even gets out.

"Did Kate ask where you'd found him?" he asks Allison curiously.

She shrugs, not really answering, "Do you think Scott will notice?"

"Scott? When does Scott notice anything? He's just adopted a young alpha, two betas and a coyote."

"You really think this will work?"

He glances at her from the side of his eyes; the perfect hunter, her dark hair curling shorter than when he'd last known her and stopping just at her shoulders. She's more deadly than ever, and she's not the little girl frightened of wolves in the dark. Not anymore. "It will work," he says, "Her little hunter buddies can't hang around forever. She'll come up here alone eventually."

"Get it done," Allison says, standing, "I don't want things to get messy."

"Why, Allison. It's like you don't even know me."

 

Electricity crackles over his body and Peter is going to murder Stiles. The big buff guy near the dial leers at him and for some reason he obviously felt the need to take Peter's shirt off. Maybe it was just to admire Peter's amazing stomach muscles, but otherwise it has yet to serve a purpose.

Kate Argent isn't around. She and another minion or two were hanging around yesterday. And the day before… Peter's not sure. He can't quite keep track of how long he's been here. A day? Two?

He'll kill Stiles.

How dare the emissary backstab him like this? String him up as bait, just so Kate Argent will come out to play.

And Kate's a piece of work, alright. Taunting him about his family, making lewd suggestions… Peter almost prefers Stiles' brand of villainy. At least he can get behind the revenge spree thing.

He stopped screaming a while ago. He's a werewolf, after all. He'll heal. It's not worth seeing their pleasure at his humiliation.

"You ready to talk?"

"About what?" he drawls, "I can talk about a lot of things but you haven't specified…" his mouth snaps shut, jaw clenching as another pulse of electricity pumps through him, "Okay! I'll talk! I convinced Derek that eggs weren't real. He was only six. I told him they were actually just presents that chickens kept dropping accidentally. He kept trying to give them back to the hens… I told Talia that Laura had done it."

The torturer doesn't look very impressed, but he doesn't say anything because with a glob of saliva in Peter's direction, he turns to the dial.

A shadow flashes across the back wall. Peter’s head tilts up, squinting, but there is nothing for a few long seconds.

Then the torturer hits the wall and Peter blinks up at where Derek stands, frowning at him, "I don't remember that incident," he says.

"You were six," Peter says as if it’s a valid argument.

Derek just huffs, "Put a shirt on," he says, gesturing to a nearby table even as he goes about cracking the manacles.

"Derek?" he puzzles, wondering if this is another kind of vivid hallucination or if all his subtle manipulation has actually earned him someone who looks out for him enough to notice when he's missing, "What are you doing here?"

"I traced your cell," his nephew says with wide-eyes, "I realised you weren't around. What… how did you get captured by Argent?"

Peter wishes he knew. He also wishes he knew _why_. He adds another mark to the idea of killing the emissary who had put him in the dungeon by some means he would absolutely love to know.

His mind flashes back to a drug dazed conversation between Allison and Stiles, and he thinks he might just have some idea of what is going on.

"Come on," he says, straightening, "We need to get out of here. Before Kate shows up."

Kate… or any other hunter really. Or any murderous emissaries.

 

Kate's clever. She's quick and she's smart and she doesn't go anywhere alone. She knows she's being hunted and she acts like it, and Stiles follows her around, tracking her and waiting.

He's waited six years. He can wait a few more hours.

Sooner or later she has to slip up. She'll slip away to the woods where Peter is and then Stiles will take his chance. And then it will all be over.

Even as he watches Kate checks her cell phone, and then climbs into her car. With a satisfied smile, Stiles slides his own vehicle into gear - the sleek black car he'd stolen from the nurse - and moves it out, heading to the woods.

It will be over soon, he tells himself.

 

Laura's young, but she's the same age he was when he gained alpha status.

She'll survive, Scott thinks, looking at the small Hale family. Malia is still a coyote, but that's still only going to be temporary. Laura is quiet, but still coping. Cora is withdrawing into herself, but Derek seems to be so far doing a good job of drawing the eight year old out of her shell.

Speaking of Derek…

Scott looks around the small motel room he's rented for the kids. And god, the kids, he's already thinking of them as his pack which he shouldn't be, but maybe… Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stick around for a little while. Just to make sure Laura finds her feet and Peter doesn't do anything stupid like get shot again…

And Peter… Scott stands, brows furrowed in confusion. Neither Peter nor Derek are around. Derek he's pretty sure he saw that morning but he can't remember seeing the older wolf since the fire.

That doesn't make sense. Now - out of all times - the oldest Hale should be sticking with his family, looking after the four year old coyote pup he seems to care nothing about…

"Have you seen Derek?" he asks Laura. She shakes her head and Scott moves through to the room where he already can't hear a heartbeat, but maybe some missing shoes or shirt might give him hint as to where the teenager has gone. Scott's pretty sure he isn't visiting the human girlfriend - he usually at least mentions that to someone but--

His laptop is open on the bed. He had lent it to Derek for studying, but that doesn't explain why it’s open on a website that maps something. Squinting closer, it takes Scott embarrassingly long to realise it's for tracking down a phone via GPS.

The little map marker is positioned in the middle of the preserve in a location Scott knows to be exactly where the old pack house was.

"What are you doing there?" he frowns, clicking on a few things, and that's when he accidentally navigates back. Back to where it's not Derek's phone punched into the search bar, it's Peter's.

Scott's starting to get a bad feeling about this.

On his way out he grabs his coat, "Stay here," he tells Laura. She nods, lips pressed together in a tight line. She looks nervous and Scott takes pity on her, "Call Lydia," he throws his phone to her, "Ask her to come and keep an eye on things if that makes you feel better."

Looking relieved, the young female alpha nods, and for a moment Scott's seeing himself, after their fire, huddled in a hospital with one best friend unconscious and another staring into space, tears silently streaming down her face while a news report lists the dead and Natalie Martin's name is read out.

Tearing himself away Scott shrugs on his jacket, and he's half-way to his bike when Allison appears from nowhere. It must be a hunter thing, because he hadn't noticed her and that still worries him, even though its Allison and she's okay but _he hadn't noticed her_.

"Where you heading?" she falls into step next to him, moving lightly and silently.

"Looking for Peter and Derek," he tells her, grabbing his helmet, "They went off and what with the hunters…" he shrugs, "I'm worried about them."

"I'm sure they're fine," she disregards his worries so easily it makes him feel silly. Is he just being paranoid? Worrying over nothing? But no, he needs to make sure, it's better to be safe than sorry or as Stiles says, or rather used to say, it was always better to ask forgiveness than permission.

"Still," he shrugs, "I'm going to check they're okay. For some reason they're out by the old Pack house."

"Don't go," Allison says, too quickly and grabbing his wrist. He stares at her, wondering what brought this on… "Go to dinner with me," she blurts out.

She might have managed to salvage it but at that request? That is when Scott knows something is going on. He snatches his wrist out from underneath his hand. Scott stares at her in horror. "Allison?" he hardly dares to breath, "What did you do? What did you _do_?"

She doesn't bother to make up excuses. She just lifts her chin up and tells him it as it is. "She needs to die, Scott. I did what I had to. For everyone who has died at her hands. She needs to be stopped, and even if I can't give you your pack or family back, I can give you that."

"So Stiles…"

"Don't go. Please don't go. Stiles is with her now, just back off and let it happen."

"No," he shakes his head, pulling even further away from her. He's always known Allison can be violent, ever since what Lydia always refers to as her 'psychopathic period' back when she was on her own quest for revenge, but this… "You can't… this isn't right. I can't just stand back and let this happen."

"That's what we're asking," Allison pleads, "Stand back. Don't go. By morning it will be done. We've planned this…"

"You're an accessory to murder!" Scott feels his fangs beginning to show, "Kate doesn't deserve to live," he says, pulling his helmet on, "But neither should we kill her."

It's stupid. That's why he had friends like Stiles and Allison. They were prepared to do the more dubious things, always there with the harsh but necessary suggestion. And they can call Scott moral and too nice for his own good as much as they like, but at least Scott will be able to sleep at night.

He revs the engine of his bike and leaves Allison standing there in the parking lot, gazing at him with an undecipherable expression.

 

They follow the tunnel down the hill before it veers left and Derek and Peter both have to scramble to get out through a narrow grate. They end up just below the house, in a ditch and Peter pulls a face at the water soaking into his shoes.

"Come on!" Derek tugs him towards the house and the driveway and where hopefully Derek has once again appropriated his car.

Peter has never been more grateful he taught Derek how to drive before now. It's never been so useful before.

They make it half-way across the clearing in front of the house. In hindsight they probably shouldn't have headed straight for the road in the middle of the open.

The sound of the arrow being nocked into place barely gets heard. It's the whip of the first crossbow bolt that has both werewolves spinning around, even as it crashes into a tree to the left of them.

It's blinding. Blinding and disorientating. Peter drops to the ground, eyes closed as he tries to see where the new arrival is. Derek lets out a pained moan, and that's when another bolt crashes into the ground, releasing a painful high pitched screech.

He digs his claws in the dirt, using that to tell which way up is. That's one thing at least. Clawing himself up, he grabs Derek's shirt, pulling his nephew up.

He feels the moment another crossbow bolt hits, not because it rips through his flesh, but because it shakes Derek's body. His nephew lets out a whimper, eyes flaring gold. Peter turns to where Kate stands at the edge of the clearing, lifting another bolt. Peter's too laden down to dodge, and it sinks into his leg like a hornet sting. He grits his teeth, eyes burning blue.

Kate tosses the crossbow carelessly to the side, sliding a gun out of her holster, "Not bad," she hums, critically, "Two for the price of one and… oh, you got the pretty one to come help you…" she coos at Derek, lifting her gun.

This is how he's going to die, Peter thinks, but that's before he smells a familiar and reassuring scent on the breeze. Of dirt and oak tree and copper and…

 

"Drop the gun, Kate."

She whirls around, but the gun doesn't waver from the wolves, "You," she stares at him, understanding seeping into her expression as she recognises him, "Of course… the sheriff's son… the _emissary_."

"Yeah, we tend to be overlooked. It helps when you're lying in a coma in a hospital bed for six years. Thanks for that," his tone isn't pleasant and he makes no attempts at niceties. He just spreads out his hands, palms empty.

She curls her lip, "It was a pleasure," she says, "Really, it was. I just wish I'd been there to watch it _burn_ …"

"Stiles!"

He's got everything covered. He's expecting Peter to be there. The fact he's got out is even good. He's expecting Kate to be strutting around like she owns the place, like she didn't burn it to ashes years before. He's expecting that.

He's not expecting Derek to be limping along with Peter. He's not expecting Scott to come bursting out of the trees.

With a hiss he turns from where Kate stands to Scott. The alpha takes in the scene, the way Kate has her gun pointed to the two beta wolves, the way Stiles stands facing her.

"Scott," Kate puts on the creepy aunt factor, “Fancy meeting you here.”

"Stiles, don't!" Scott begs, "Please, don't do this!"

"Why not?" Stiles glares at his friend. His alpha.

His brother.

"You can't bring them back," is all Scott says, and his tone is so gentle, so understanding that all  Stiles wants to do is walk away and pretend that everything is okay except…

It's too late. It's far too fucking late.

"I predicted this," Stiles gestures with wide, sweeping arms at the burnt house behind him, "Hell, I fucking told you that _something like this was going to happen_ if you kept dating that hunter girl but did you listen? DID _ANYONE_ LISTEN?" His voice is loud. Full of anger and pain and Scott flinches. "You said that it was all going to be okay. That we were perfectly safe." Stiles scoffs, " _Perfectly safe?_ She told her aunt _EVERYTHING_. About the moon, about the mountain ash, about the wolfsbane, about the tunnels… we didn't stand a chance. You're a wolf, Scott, you're meant to be the apex predator but you… you turned us into _sheep_."

Scott shakes his head. He is muted and silent, his eyes staring pleadingly towards his best friend and emissary but Stiles doesn't see. Stiles doesn't seen anything anymore but the fire.

"So I'm going to make it right. Make it safe. I am going to raze those who _hurt us_ to the ground. Don't you get it, Scott? We can start over. Once it’s safe, we can make a new pack, you're an alpha, you can always make more werewolves. Allison can even stay, once her aunt and grandfather are dead."

"No," Scott finds his tongue, "Stiles, stop this. What happened to justice? What would your dad think if he could see you now…"

"My dad is _DEAD_!" Stiles snaps, furious suddenly beyond words. He can kill the arsonists, the petty people who helped cover it, even the person who sold Kate the supplies, but he can't kill Scott for his own carelessness. "They're _DEAD_ , Scott. They are ALL dead! They're all dead and you left me. You and Lydia left me to rot inside my own head. I have spent _years_ , planning this. Don't mess it up for me now."

With a soft _snick_ Scott's claws slide out, "I don't like her," Scott whispers, "And I don't support what she did… but I don't want you to kill her. Not because I want her alive… but because I don't want to see you do this to yourself. Deaton calls a druid gone bad a darach but… does that even apply if you weren’t a druid to begin with?"

“I’m doing what is necessary. I’m doing what you can’t.”

“What I _won’t_. And I won’t let you either. I won’t watch you become something I know you’ll hate and regret later.”

"So that's how it's going to be."

 

Allison gets there just in time. Her Dad treks along behind her, his gun out and ready just like her compound bow is.

It's beginning to rain, falling down fast and quick. She wonders if this is Stiles' doing: if the emissary is controlling the weather or if it’s just chance. Her hair clings to her face, drips down her eyelashes as she reaches the clearing, "Stop!" she shouts, taking in the scene in front of her.

Kate stands in front of two beta werewolves, one of which is digging arrows out his leg with a hiss and a flash of blue eyes. The younger one looks a bit worse off.

Scott steps forwards, claws out and Allison lets her arrow fly. Scott dodges, whirling around with a hurt expression on his face, "Allison…" he pleads.

She nocks another arrow, even as Chris aims a gun at Kate, "Drop it!" he threatens her.

"Chris…" Kate begins, slowly.

"No," her dad looks disappointed, "I didn't want to do this, Kate, but you've gone too far now."

Allison doesn't know what side she's on. She's helping a serial killer and Scott looks like he's about to side with another one. She laughs because it’s just so fucked up…

Chris and Kate are staring at each other. Scott's looking towards them and Stiles--

Stiles is human. But only just. Right now Stiles is fury and anger and lightning boiled into flesh, made living. There is power at his fingertips, something Allison has known but never quite realised how much, never quite known how in tune the emissary was with the power that sat right here in Beacon Hills.

And with a few well-placed murders and a sacrificial deer, Stiles harnesses it. Chris moves forwards.

Allison screams, "DAD, DON'T," and Stiles brings his hand out, swiping the air in front of him with a violent slash, and Chris goes _flying_. It's like an invisible string has yanked him aside. His head hits a tree and he drops.

Stiles turns to Allison, "Stay out of my way," he snarls as she races over to her father. "Because this?" he gestures around, "This is how it ends."

He's obviously not expecting Scott to throw himself at him in a mockery of their old play-fighting sessions. But with a curl of his lips, Stiles ducks, stepping backwards. Snarling, Scott lashes out, catching Stiles with a vicious backhand blow that sends the emissary flying to the ground.

At the end of the day, Allison thinks, he's a human against a werewolf.

 

"Where does it end?" Scott begs, stepping forwards, his arms spread as if he wants peace, "Stiles… where does this stop? Kate? Or Gerard? Or every other hunter in North America?"

He sprawls in the dirt, his lips bleeding. Scott acts like all he wants is peace, as if he doesn't know that peace comes at a cost and its one Stiles is willing to pay, had been willing to pay since even before the fire when a shadow fox crawled into his head, "If it keeps my pack safe," he reasons, trying to appeal to Scott. He's still pack. Even hundreds of miles apart they are still friends.

But Scott's eyes are red and if Stiles was a wolf he'd be bowing down already.

It's just as well Stiles isn't a wolf. Pushing himself upright he gathers up energy in his right hand, preparing to throw the coiled power forwards towards the true alpha…

Scott's quick. Stiles has forgotten how quick werewolves are. He catches the hand and twists. Stiles can feel his bones grate together and he hisses in pain. His friend is no longer looking sorry, instead he has that steely resolve he gets when he has to do something he doesn’t _want_ to do but _needs_ to. Scott has a line, and Stiles thinks he's just crossed it, and if he hadn't realised it before when the power drained out of his one hand as the bones grind together, then he certainly realises it when Scott grips his neck neatly in the palm of his hand, claws curling around and just begging him not to move.

“Going to kill me?” he laughs, feeling them prick against his neck. Tiny beads of blood well up and he doesn’t flinch. Scott stares at him, his expression broken.

“Do I need to?”

There is a howl from the other side of the clearing. Stiles can make out Allison crouched by her dad. He's not dead. Stiles didn't throw him hard enough to kill him. But that's not the problem.

A flash of blue eyes and a growl and he spots Peter. Derek's half-sitting, half-lying, curled up and Peter--

Peter is lunging at Kate.

There is a gunshot, loud and clear and Allison scrambles for her bow.

"Let me end it," Stiles tries one more time to make Scott understand, "Please. I spent years, lying burnt and broken in a hospital because of her. Let me end it."

"Not like this," Scott tells him.

"Then Scott…"

"Yeah?"

"This might hurt."

He brings his free hand punching around; energy coiled around it and releases it straight at Scott. He can feel the Nemeton burning through him, blood and lightning and the alpha werewolf goes flying, hitting the side of the Pack House and still going. The house is wrecked enough as it is - what's one more hole?

Scott's claws rip into Stiles' throat as he moves, but it's nothing serious. He'll survive. But Peter--

Kate shoves the beta off him. His body is limp. Kate looks triumphant staggering back and turning. He can tell the moment she spots him because the smile drops from her face.

"Just you and me," he shrugs, blood running down his throat as he draws upon the Nemeton's power once more to wrap it around Kate Argent. With a violent gesture to one side, he _throws_ her out of the way. He doesn’t even touch her, just wraps the currents in the air where he wants them. He controls them after all, and they do his bidding. Kate crashes into the soil, rolling a few times and Stiles ignores her, striding forwards. He'll get to her. For now--

"Peter?" he jogs forwards until he can drop down next to the beta. The wolf is still and not moving, but as Stiles approaches he stirs, eyes flaring blue.

"You bastard," is the first thing Peter says, so obviously the wolf isn't as hurt as badly as he looks.

Stiles peels the man's shirt away from the bullet wound - two bullet wounds, he realises. He could heal it, it would drain him but he could heal it and--

"You're not taking my clothes off again until you keep your promise," the werewolf says with a curl of his lip in just the hint of a snarl, "Argent--"

Stiles realises too late that it's not a query, it's a warning and he spins around, looking for Kate who has a gun out, pointing it forwards and--

There is the high pitched whistle of an arrow flying through the air, then a loud wet thump as it hits its target.

Kate freezes, hand going to her throat as she chokes on wet, hot blood.

Allison doesn't even blink as she nocks another arrow into place, draws it back and lets it fly. Kate stares in utter betrayal at her niece trying to choke out words that don't come. Then she crumples to the ground, blood spraying over the soil.

Stiles can't help but feel betrayed. That was his kill. His death. His revenge.

He glances towards Allison who drops her bow, staring for one long moment at her aunt before turning away, "She broke the code," Allison whispers, "She knew the consequences."

"Allison--" the heartbroken sound comes from where Scott is extracting himself from the ruins of the house. He stares in horror at Kate and then at his sort of girlfriend. His expression softens ever so slightly.

"I had to make it right," the huntress says, voice detached, "I had to…" she takes a deep breath, sounding on the verge of tears, "She had to die."

Stiles doesn't disagree with her there. And leaning back he feels the weight roll off his shoulders. Kate is dead.

She's finally dead.

It's over.

 

They cover it up.

Stiles is already used to dealing with dead bodies and apparently he lost his gag reflex a long time ago. Allison is a hunter who is used to killing things and Peter wonders how she justifies this kill - was Kate a _monster_ to her niece? Just another thing to be put down?

Chris is just experienced in making it look like an accident.

And Peter just watches it all and enjoys it. Enjoys watching the woven lies they weave for the police when Parrish finally turns up with a sigh and an expression that just screams 'you lot again?'

The official story is that Kate is the one responsible for all the murders. The fires - both of them - the dead bodies around the town. Stiles somehow ends up being the victim, the one persecuted by Kate for knowing about the fire. Peter manages to get his own story there, and he makes sure to explain about his torture where the emissary can hear exactly what it was he got Peter into.

Allison admits to being the one to shoot her. She claims it was to protect Stiles and Peter.

It’s one of the few things in their cover story that is not a lie.

Scott takes Peter and Derek home. The other three deal with the police, and Peter just wishes he had been there to see what Chris Argent had to say to the real murderer of the past month.

Nothing happens for a week. The papers finally find a different cover story to print, and while Derek still fires off texts at him on a regular basis just to check he's not been kidnapped again, everything is moving on. There's a funeral - a press-heavy event that consists of what is left of the Argent family.

Peter should know; he was watching it from afar.

Allison and Chris aren't the only Argents in town. Not anymore.

Scott's staying. But whether it’s because he's taken Laura under his wing or because he's worried about any potential fallout, Peter isn't sure. He sees Lydia around town and assumes McCall and his pack of four - murderous hunter and psychotic emissary included - are still around. But he doesn't get definite proof on the last one until he steps into his apartment and breaths in the scent of ozone.

He whirls around, staring at where the emissary is lazing on his sofa. "How did you get in?" he demands.

"I copied your key," Stiles says, completely unabashed at the legality of that.

"And _what_ makes you think I want you in my apartment? The last time you were here you wrapped me up in a nice little bow and gave me to Kate."

"Actually, I gave you to Allison to give to Kate," Stiles corrects, "There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"It _worked_ ," Stiles shrugs, "Kate's dead. Happy?"

"No." Peter stalks forwards, rounding the sofa until he can meet Stiles' gaze. He moves forwards, forcing the emissary to sit up and lean away from him. Stiles still doesn't smell nervous. Not one bit. He might still be connected to a magical tree, but the power beneath its roots is only as much as the blood that's been spilt. It will run out eventually. For a moment Peter considers killing Stiles. He's dangerous after all, and if Peter makes one wrong move the emissary might decide he's better off dead.

For a moment he considers it. And he wonders if Stiles is thinking the same thing.

Then with a snap decision he's sliding forwards, straddling Stiles' legs and leaning towards the other man, nipping at Stiles' bared throat. He'll need an emissary after all when he gets what he's waiting for. "You ever sell me out again and I'm going to kill you."

"Noted," Stiles hums, "Now are you done with the most inane sounding threats of the decade?"

"You promised me alpha eyes," he breathes, curling clawed hands into Stiles' hips. He leaves the sentence hanging; a question _and_ a statement.

"So I did," Stiles laughs, sounding slightly breathless, "Let's get on that…. And while we're at it, how do you feel like paying Gerard Argent a visit?"

Peter answers by pressing a possessive and hungry kiss to the other man's lips.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Stiles and Peter go around killing hunters and everything is happy. Scott adopts Laura, Derek, Cora and Malia (who they eventually help back into a human four year old). Allison and Scott date on and off. Lydia tries (and fails) not to find more dead bodies. She blames Stiles and his murderous boyfriend. The End.
> 
> I posted [this](http://shadow-of-the-eclipse.tumblr.com/post/123567105363/on-the-subject-of-fics-i-want-i-want-a-steter) idea on tumblr, and just couldn't stop thinking about it. I started writing it, but it wasn't meant to be long. I wanted it a decent length, but then kept adding in a whole load of stuff and it grew and grew and... Stiles doesn't even come in until 13,000 words. It's ridiculous. I got really invested in this AU, I even have ideas for how Scott got bitten and the other three got involved together.
> 
> This was not what I set out to write, but I'm oddly happy with it. I hope anyone who actually clicked on the 28,000 word monster enjoyed it as well!


End file.
